


When it's dark enough, you can see the stars

by StarryDreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Infinity Stones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryDreamer/pseuds/StarryDreamer
Summary: Everyone has secrets, even Jemma Simmons.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost from FFN. I wrote it in 2014 based off of a nugget of inspiration I got from the impending release of Guardians of the Galaxy. It also blends into Season 1 a bit toward the end, so it's sort of canon-compliant.
> 
> I'm going to gradually parcel out the chapters here at AO3. So stay tuned! :)

Nick Fury stands out in a crowd. His tall, imposing figure and one good eye call people's attention to him almost immediately. He’d never readily admit it, but most days he’s glad to be out of the field and administering from Triskelion.  From his office high above Washington, D.C. it’s as though he can see everything and in spite of his ranking position, he’s still easily able to keep up with his contacts in the field.  When word arrives that there’s an explosion at the A.I.M. Glasgow facility, he digs a little deeper and calls his contacts in Scotland.

What Fury discovers intrigues him: the victim was on S.H.I.E.L.D's watch list; but he can't investigate the matter himself. He's too noticeable, too much the public figure. Instead, he turns to an agent he'd personally recruited, someone that he knows he can trust implicitly.

…

Phil Coulson is a master at blending in. People tend to underestimate him, believing that he's a banker or a high school teacher or even a news anchor. It's his unassuming nature that allows him to so easily acquire pertinent information and it makes him an asset as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent.

It's because of these qualities that Director Fury sends him on his first international assignment to Glasgow, Scotland.

As a secret terrorist organization, A.I.M operates under the guise of creating effective technological inventions meant to assist the developing world. Too frequently, scientists and technicians were recruited by the allure of using their skills to better the world and wound up unknowingly facilitating insurgencies.

Andrew Fitz had been one of A.I.M's leading developers and according to surveillance records, he was hired upon graduation from the University of Glasgow. What strikes Coulson as odd as he looks through the files, is that the dates listed don't sync up. The university's tech department had shuttered its doors well before Fitz's reported graduation and it would've been impossible for him to have had a degree in the subject listed if the dates were to be believed.

Coulson scours the internet for postings on the explosion and any local reports of strange occurrences. What he discovers is that the official word from A.I.M is that Fitz's body had been burned beyond recognition due to an incorrect transfer of tert-butyllithium. A fireball, they reveal, had erupted in the lab leaving everything in its wake destroyed.

What the reporters don't mention is why a technician, an  _ engineering _ technician, was handling a pyrophoric substance that needed an exact cannula transfer. In his first report to Director Fury upon arriving in Glasgow, Coulson notes his suspicion that perhaps the explosion may have been more than just an unfortunate lab accident.

Outside of the southern sector of the A.I.M. technical facility, a collection of onlookers and mourners gather, whispering. They are likewise suspicious as many are quick to acknowledge their distaste for A.I.M's presence in their community.

"He was a bloody good man," says one onlooker as he shakes his head.

"A crying shame, I tell ya," adds another. His fingers point through the chainlink fence that surrounds the perimeter. "We should've run them out of here when we had the chance."

Coulson mingles among the crowd and pretends he's an American journalist on the hunt for an exposé. One especially talkative woman tells him that Andrew Fitz left behind a wife and young son, and she bats at tears when she says that it's a shame that a young boy is now fatherless.

He does his best to just listen. People, Coulson finds, answer without needing to be prodded and the community is quick to trust him, eventually introducing him to Susan and Leo Fitz.

The slim flaxen-haired woman clutches her son at her side and shakes Coulson's hand, thanking him for his condolences. The young boy, perhaps aged 7 or 8, stares up at him, his blue eyes are red-rimmed and his curly hair is stuck at odd, messy angles. Coulson offers the boy a weak smile and Leo looks away shyly.

The duo move toward the fence and while Susan cries and is consoled by her community of friends, the boy manages to detach himself from his mother's grip and weaves his way through the crowd.

Coulson makes a decision to follow Leo and watches as he walks the perimeter, his eyes affixed to the ground, disinterested in the action he leaves behind. He toes the dirt as he walks, his fingers dragging along the fence as though marking his route. Eventually, when he comes to the western perimeter of the factory the boy comes to a stop.

Coulson tucks himself behind a tree and hopes that he's well hidden as he watches Leo bend to the ground and trace the tips of his fingers in the wet dirt. There's a bit of an awkward struggle as he pulls at whatever is buried. With enough force he frees the object and dusts it off. It’s a palm sized shard of metal and when the boy steps back,  Coulson is stunned by what he sees next. His breath hitches in his throat and his mouth hangs agape, disbelieving.

As though nothing happened at all, the boy tucks the metal shard into his backpack and turns toward Coulson's hiding place.

"I know you're there," Leo calls out. "I wish you wouldn't hide. But that's probably whatcha do, in'nit?"

Before Coulson can answer, before he can explain himself, the boy runs off and retraces his path back to his mother and the crowd that envelops him.

Quelling his own curiosity, Coulson resists the urge to question the boy further. Instead, he remains in the shadows and eventually blends in among the mourners, lost among the many faces.

Later, when he reports his findings regarding Leo Fitz to Nick Fury directly, he's explicitly told to initiate Project Watchdog.  Andrew Fitz's young son, Leo is to be monitored by S.H.I.E.L.D.


	2. Secrets

When Jemma Simmons receives word that Academy director Anne Weaver wants to speak with her, she doesn’t think she can be any more nervous.  Her heart pounds in her chest and her fingers pull at the sleeves of her sweater.  She tries to appear assured, her smile is just as wide as always, but on the inside her mind races with possible scenarios.

The secretary ushers her into the office and Agent Weaver looks up from her paperwork and motions to an oversized leather chair that sits before her.  Her back straight, hands tucked perfectly in her lap, Jemma offers what she hopes is a confident smile.

“Jemma,” Weaver says. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Oh--” She replies with a stutter in her voice.  “I hope everything is okay?  I haven’t done something wrong have I?”  Her words betray her as they come out quick and racked.  Jemma can’t help but worry, she has barely been enrolled at the Academy for two weeks.

Weaver laughs.  “Of course not.  You must realize that S.H.I.E.L.D values your role within the organization?”

Jemma blushes, looking down at her hands.  While she’s used to hearing people praise her scientific abilities, she always finds it remarkable that there are people-- important people-- paying attention to what she does.

“Truly; we see a great future for you here.”

“Thank you,” Jemma says softly.  “I really appreciate all the mentorship that the Academy has provided, even from when I was a little girl.  Being here at last-- this is all more than I could’ve ever hoped for or even dreamed of.”

“That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.  I won’t waste your time with any more platitudes,” the woman says, straightening in her seat.  “You’re aware that every agent here at the Academy has been thoroughly vetted? We take our psychological assessments very seriously and there are no exceptions to this.”

Jemma nods, her fingers twisting in her lap.  In spite of the compliments, she’s still mentally preparing for the worst.

“Jemma, I’ve received direct orders from the highest levels,” Weaver continues. “Director Fury himself has requested this.”  She pauses, measuring her words.  “And Special Agent Abigail Brand has likewise approved it.”

Jemma’s eyes widen, her mouth falls open.  “I don’t understand.  Director Fury?  And  _ Abigail Brand? _ What could they possibly want with me? I’m just a biochemist.”

“Agent Brand has read your dissertation and is quite impressed with your analysis of the Spartoi genome.  She’s specifically asked Director Fury for you take this mission.  Rather, this highly   _ classified  _  mission.”

“But-- but I’m just a student!  I haven’t been qualified as an active agent.  I haven’t even graduated.  This sounds much too important.  I’m sure that I’d be terr--”

“Jemma!”  Weaver interrupts, her voice chastising.  “You said this yourself moments ago-- we’ve been mentoring you for years now.  Do you think S.H.I.E.L.D would make any decision without first considering all the possibilities?  For goodness sakes, Director Fury has backup plans to his back up plans!”

Jemma knows innately that she’s acting childish, her instinctive refusal is marred by her fears of the unknown.

After a brief moment Jemma asks hesitantly, “What am I meant to do?”

Weaver nods and opens a folder marked with the familiar S.H.I.E.L.D logo.  “You’re familiar with Project Watchdog?”

She nods slowly; the tips of her fingers nervously trace the seams of the leather chair she sits in. She’d learned about Project Watchdog during her orientation from one of the Operations students who’d sat next to her at the opening lecture series.  Apparently in Ops, there was whispers of it being a high clearance program wherein a list of the most valuable assets to S.H.I.E.L.D were tracked and monitored.  The targets were mostly unaware of their status until they were deemed fit for service and entry into what was only labelled as Phase 1.  Jemma had later heard that Phase 1 was, in fact, a cover for the development of a highly skilled team that would one day to work alongside Tony Stark, but it had never been confirmed and as far as anyone knew Phase 1 went unrealized.  

“You want me to work on Project Watchdog?”

“Yes,” says Weaver.  “We’d like you to be a tracker.”  

“Me? A tracker?” Jemma can’t help the shock that rises in her voice. Surely, she thinks, her assessments must’ve shown she’d be terrible at it; she’s far too honest.  And furthermore,   _ she’s only a biochemist  _ . “But--”

Weaver raises her hand, silencing Jemma before she can protest.  “You will be fine.  It will require very little commitment from you.  He’s student here as well-- specializing in Engineering and Weapons Development.  In fact, I think that you’ll find you both have a lot in common, he seems to be quite interested in the chemical applications of his field.”

“What if he figures out that I’m tracking him?”

Weaver shakes her head. “He won’t.  He hasn’t so far and we’ve been tracking him since he was a young boy.  Just become his friend, the rest will fall into place. File your reports as required and if you notice anything unusual, let us know immediately.  You’ll be assigned a special device that will allow you to record your reports and once you graduate, we’ll replace your position.  It’s too dangerous for us to keep trackers assigned to one person for too long.”

“Is he a threat?”

She closes the file before her.  “No.  We don’t believe so, but  his last tracker was killed under suspicious circumstances .  Jemma, we have a duty to protect him as best we can.”

Jemma squares her shoulders and sits tall in her chair, feeling braver.  She nods her head, feeling assured.  “Then I’ll do it,” she says before crinkling her nose in confusion.  “But how do I start?”  

The older agent laughs and folds her hands before her.  “That part’s easy. We’ve reworked your class schedule.  Just show up late to your first class.  He’ll end up being your lab partner.”

...

Jemma Simmons likes being punctual for her classes. In fact, she often arrives early, seeking out the best seat in the classroom.  But on her first day in Properties of Matter, she’s purposefully late.  She reminds herself that if asked she’s to say that she fell asleep preparing for the class.  Before she pushes the door open to the lab, she presses the edge of her spiral notebook to her face and hopes that it adds an element of realism to her story.  

As Weaver had predicted, by her lateness she misses being able to choose her lab partner.  Everyone has paired off and there is only one other person without a partner.  It’s exactly as planned.

She apologizes for her tardiness and Professor Vaughan points out to her partner.  Jemma follows his finger to her target and she hopes that her disappointment doesn’t register on her face.  

She's met Leo Fitz once before.  

While lost in the vast halls of the Academy and trying to find her way to her entrance examination room, she’d bumped into him accidentally.  When she’d blushed and mumbled her apologies, he’d snapped at her, telling her to watch where she was going.  She’d resisted the urge to do the same in return and chose to comment on his obvious accent.  Jemma had forced her smile wide and said that it was nice to see other Brits vying for acceptance into the Academy.

Rather than engaging in a friendly exchange, Leo Fitz had instead scowled at her as though she was a creature on the bottom of his shoe and pushed past her.  In that instant, Jemma had vowed to avoid the mysteriously miserable Scottish boy if she ever did encounter him again.

Now, he would be unavoidable.

_ Of course it had to be him . _

She resists the urge to groan; in addition to being constantly punctual, Jemma is also polite. Instead she offers a ghost of a grin and asks what she’s missed.  Without looking up, he tears the handout at its center and hands her the bottom half.

“This is your bit,” he says, pointing absently with the eraser side of his pencil.  “Don’t screw it up because I don’t intend on failing.”

She scrunches up her face.  “Well I wasn’t exactly planning to.”  

“Good,” he retorts, eyes not leaving his paper.  “Because half of these people here are imbeciles and I’d hate to have been paired with one of them.”

Jemma is speechless.  She’s horrified by his comment and wonders what she did to deserve such torture.  Rather than offering a half-witted reply, she decides to ignore him and focuses her attention on the work before her.  It’s a simple activity, she thinks and she makes quick work of the equations.  When she finishes and passes him her answers, he’s stunned.

“You’re done?  Already?”

She’s silently pleased that she seems to have impressed him and nods. “I thought it was pretty easy.  We did these all the time in my doctoral program back at Cambridge.  Now some of those ones were difficult!”

Fitz stares at her, it’s as though he wants to say something but thinks better of it. Instead, he asks, “You went to Cambridge?”

She nods and Jemma can’t help the smile that has found its way to her lips.  She wonders if she’s impressed him.

“I went to M.I.T,” he remarks simply before returning to his own worksheet.  

Jemma’s smile fades and she can’t decide if he’s saying it as though it’s fact or if he’s trying to one up her.  She resolves not to ask and watches with her chin in the palm of her hand as he finishes his half of the calculations.

When Fitz stands to submit the work to Professor Vaughan, Jemma stops him.  She noticed him make an error and wants to ensure that it’s perfect.  His face reddens when her pencil moves quickly about his half, correcting.  

“There,” she says, returning the sheet to Fitz.  “Perfect.”

“Chemistry isn’t really my thing.”  Fitz says, shrugging his shoulders.  “I’m meant to be in engineering, but I figured I should learn this sort of stuff.”

Jemma isn’t sure how to respond and so she chooses not to. Instead she watches her new charge carefully, unsure of what to make of him just yet.  She’s still unclear as to why  she  of all people was chosen and as Fitz yawns dramatically and rolls his eyes at Vaughan’s attempts at humour, she can’t help but wonder who Leo Fitz really is.  What about him makes him so special that the higher ups have had him tracked?  Surely by now they should have some idea of who or what he is?  

When class ends, Fitz gathers his backpack from the floor and turns to Jemma. “I’m Fitz,” he says, jutting his hand out. “Good to work with you.”

Her eyebrow cocks in surprise, but she recovers quickly and shakes his hand; a practiced smile on her lips.  “Jemma Simmons.  It’s a pleasure.”  Fitz’s head tilts slightly and she suspects that maybe her lie doesn’t sound as fluid as she’d thought.  She’s about to try and make her words seem more believable, but Fitz shrugs and turns, exiting the lab.

Later in her room, when exhaustion riddles her body, she buries her face into her pillow, wondering what she’s gotten herself into.   She half considers calling Agent Weaver and backing out of it entirely.  Leo Fitz, she's certain, is  _ terribly insufferable _ .


	3. Tentative Friendships

Leo Fitz prefers to work alone.  When Professor Vaughan forces him into a partnership with Jemma Simmons he can’t help but scowl.  The girl, he thinks is far too friendly and she’s constantly trying to engage him in conversation.  He’s fairly confident in his belief that solitude is preferable to her incessant chatter, but she surprises him by catching his mistakes on more than one occasion and it impresses him.  

He thinks that maybe he could get used to her, or at the very least tolerate her presence, but Fitz has received a letter calling him before the Academy’s review board.  He suspects that he’s on the verge of expulsion.  He’s fairly certain that a few of his professors dislike him and have filed complaints.  He can’t help but correct them; they  _ are _  wrong after all.  

When the letter arrives tucked into his mailbox in the housing lobby, he can’t help but laugh at the irony that the review meeting is on Halloween of all days.  He wonders what the professors would think of him if he came in costume to defend himself.  

As it is, the campus is abuzz and a few of his classes are cancelled due to the day’s events.  S.H.I.E.L.D, Fitz thinks, must take Halloween fairly seriously as there are goblin games in the quad and the Student Union is busy preparing for their annual Monster Ball in the cafeteria.  The students themselves wander the halls in various states of dress and Fitz has already counted at least 15 zombies, four of which were of the “sexy” variety.  

_ As if there’d be sexy zombies in an apocalypse. _

Deciding that he’s in no mood for the festivities, he decides to explore the library’s collection of Howard Stark’s inventions.  He’s fairly confident that by the end of day he’ll likely not have access to the collection due to the revoking of his student clearance.  He’s always wanted to see a transistorized blast gun up close and decides that he may as well to use the free time before his interview.

As he enters into the revolving doors at the library’s entrance, a rabbit and Santa Claus stall his efforts and he sighs, trapped between the doors.  They’re so busy flirting with each other that they haven’t noticed that Santa’s arm has locked the door in its place.   Frustrated, Fitz watches as the rabbit giggles, tugging at Santa’s matted cotton ball beard, both ignorant of the hold up they’re causing.  

Fitz’s fist pounds against the glass in quick succession, the hollow beat calling their attention.  “Aye! Will ya bloody well  _ move _ ?”  His voice growls and the rabbit gives an annoyed look and steps backward, pulling door jam Santa back with her.   Fitz shakes his head angrily, finally able to enter the library.  He’s about to give them a piece of his mind when he hears a woman calling his name.

“Oh Fitz,” the voice trills from behind him. “Glad I ran into you!”

Turning he sees Jemma, her arms cradling several oversized textbooks and he can’t help the smile that creeps upon his face.  On her head is an awkwardly sized green felt Panama hat and at her neck a long knitted scarf atop an orange cravat.  

“Do you have a copy of the notes Hall gave us on mesenchymal cells in the Rigellian race?  I can’t figure out if their cells proliferate into fibroblasts or if--”

“Fourth Doctor?” He asks, interrupting, tugging at the sleeve of her brown velvet coat.  

“What?”

“This,” he points at her outfit with laughter in his voice, his earlier frustrations already a distant memory.  “Tweed vest, terribly knitted scarf--”

“My Nan knitted this scarf!”

“--awfully fitted hat.  You’re the Fourth Doctor. Clever.”

Jemma blushes and her fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Not quite.  People keep asking me if I’m supposed to be my dad.  I don’t know whether I should be insulted or not.” Her mouth quirks in brief contemplation as her eyebrows furrow.  Shaking off the thought, her eyes rise to meet  Fitz’s. “Why aren’t you in costume?”

He shrugs, not quite sure if he wants to tell Jemma the exact reason for his costume-less attire.  Instead, he chooses his next words purposefully. “Didn’t feel like it.  Halloween seems rather foolish. People dressed up in ridiculous costumes like they’re still stuck in primary school.”

“Hey now!”

Fitz runs his hand along his tie and his eyes shift toward the floor.  He wants to comment on the historical roots of Halloween and its relationship to the modern American consumer culture, but his heart isn’t quite in it.  He can feel Jemma watching him expectantly; it’s as though she’s preparing herself for his onslaught.  Instead, he surprises her by muttering an apology and digs his fists into his sweater’s pockets.

Jemma’s mouth opens to respond but she seems to think better of it and closes it just as quickly.  After a moment, she asks instead, “So did you have those notes from Hall’s lecture?”  Her voice is soft and unsure.

Fitz nods, patting the laptop case that hangs at his side. “I can email it to you if you want?”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Her words hint at renewed levity.  “It’s hard to tell the Rigellian biology from the Rhunian one, isn’t it?  I mean, are the collagen fibers laid down in an organized or unorganized fashion?”

“Rhunians are unorganized. They look like giant humans with pointy ears,” he says flicking at his own ears for added effect. “That should make it easier to remember.”

Jemma stares at him for a moment, surprised.  “Yeah.  Thanks. That helps a lot.” Her eyes flit to her watch and she taps her finger against its face.  “Well, I’d better get going.  Was hoping to get some homework in before the party tonight.  You’ll be there, right?”

“Yea. Sure.  Probably.”   Fitz can’t meet her eyes. He’s not entirely certain that he’ll even be a student at the school in a few hours.  

“I’ll see you then!”  Jemma moves to enter into the revolving doors but stops herself.  She turns as though she has a second thought and unravels the scarf from her neck.  Marching toward  Fitz, she loops it over his head and crosses it, tossing one end over his shoulder.  “There,” she says with a teasing smile.  “Now at least you have somewhat of a costume.”

Fitz’s head shakes and his hands pull at the scarf.  “I can’t--”  

Jemma’s hand waves for him to stop. “Return it to me at the party tonight. This way you’re forced to come.  Besides,” she adds, her words playful.  “It rather matches the granddad sweater that you’ve got on.”

“It’s not my--”  His protest hangs in the air as she’s quick through the doors, her laughter carrying as she exits the library before he can finish his sentence.  

...

When Fitz is ushered into to the conference room at Barnes Hall, his heart beats nervously in his chest and his hands dig deep into the pockets of his oversized sweater.  Jemma’s scarf lays warm against his neck.  He can’t bring himself to remove it, he finds it strangely comforting.

Agent Weaver points to a lone chair at the center of the room and he takes a seat, his finger tapping against the mahogany wood of the armrest.  

“Mr. Fitz, do you know why you’re here?” Weaver asks, looking at the professors that flank her right and left.

Fitz takes a deep breath; his eyes scan the room.  He recognizes a few of his professors, some lean forward awaiting his answer and others like Vaughan, shuffle at the papers before them avoiding eye contact.  If the tension in the room wasn’t so thick,  Fitz suspects he’d have laughed at how ridiculous they all look.  

“Mr. Fitz, you were asked a question.”

He nods and gathers his courage.  “I’d just assumed that you were to expel me.”

“Thirteen notifications, Mr. Fitz. Thirteen.”  Weaver holds up the complaints to illustrate her point.  When she returns them to her desk, the palm of her hand hits the table with a crack.  “Never in the history of S.H.I.E.L.D Academy has there been a student with so many complaints filed against them.”

“So you  _ are _ expelling me then?”  He can’t hide the disappointment in his voice.  Working for S.H.I.E.L.D had be his goal for much of his life, it was one of the last requests his father had made of him.

Weaver sighs and narrows her eyes at  Fitz.  “We have a significant interest in you, Mr. Fitz. It is no secret that we think you have an acute ability and we would like to foster that.  But each of your professors finds your behaviour trying.  Your classmates complain about your attitude.  Each one suggests that you incite arguments, are rude and make little effort to get along with those around you. Do you even have one friend here?”

Fitz looks down at his lap.  His fingers twist into a hole in the scarf and he swallows hard.  He knows the answer but he can’t bring himself to say it aloud.  It is one thing to live the life, yet it’s entirely different to admit it for all to hear.

Weaver clears her throat in an attempt to break the silence. “That’s what I--”

“Wait,” he says suddenly.  His finger knots around the edge of the scarf; he has an idea.  It’s a brazen one and a partial lie and the professors all look at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.  He measures his voice and wills the words to spill out convincingly.  “I do.  Have a friend that is.”

Weaver raises her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“There’s this girl.”  He says as his eyes shut.  He can’t bear to see their reaction, thinks that they won’t believe him and expel him just the same. Or worse, send him to the Sandbox.  “She’s my lab partner; she’s in all of my classes.  Simmons.  Her name is Jemma Simmons.”

Weaver’s cheeks darken slightly and her eyes jump to the papers that lay before her.  Once again, she clears her throat before she speaks.  “Very well.  But you understand the position your… attitude puts us in?  It’s quite risky to what the program here at S.H.I.E.L.D stands for.”

“Yes,” he says softly.  “I understand.”

“Wait in the hall,” she says, stiffly. “We’ll call you back when we render our verdict.”

…

Fitz’s dorm room is a mess.  He has to kick at the laundry that litters his floor in order to cross his room.  He turns the crank at his window and opens it, letting in the cool autumn air.  The faint thump of music can be heard and he feels a guilty pang in his chest over his broken promise.  He thinks he shouldn’t feel guilty as a few hours earlier, he’d been completely convinced that he’d be spending the remainder of his night packing his bags.  It was through sheer inspired thought that he’d even managed to save his place at the Academy and he’s still stunned when he thinks about how his ploy worked.

Rare is the occasion that  Fitz thinks about his future.  From when he was a young boy, he’d had only two goals in mind: entrance into S.H.I.E.L.D’s Academy and the eventual membership into its agency.  He’d never been curious about whether he could meet those goals, he’d always been confident that he could.

Fitz has confidence in himself in part because of the last conversation he’d had with his father.

His father had always talked of the future.  It was a surety to him; he knew what was to come and taught his son what to expect and how to prepare for it.   Unlike his father,  Fitz feared the future and instead was obsessed with the past.  The past held the answers he was looking for and it offered him the comfort he sought.  

He fears looking into his future.  He’s afraid that what he’ll see is only more of the same loneliness and solitude.  But now, for the first time since he’d been given the opportunity to do so,  Fitz wants to know his future.  He wants to step into it and  _ see it _ .  

His hand digs into his dresser drawer and he swipes his thumb along a scanner that lays hidden, releasing a trap door.  Leaning down, he reaches under his bed and carefully removes a black silk bag.  He shakes out its contents and a golden ring with a large orange stone at its center drops into his hand.  Despite the many times he’s seen it, the ring never fails to impress him. It had always seemed so otherworldly.

With practiced precision,  Fitz slips the ring onto his finger and twists.  The room turns on its axis, throwing him into a blackened chasm. Eyes tightly shut, he thinks only of his future at S.H.I.E.L.D and when he opens them, the crisp autumn air is replaced by the humidity of the summer sun.


	4. Clouds Over the Hills

“You seem distracted.”  It’s as though the words come from nowhere, a disassociated question intermingled with the thump of the bass that seems to rock the walls of the cafeteria.

“He’s not here,” Jemma replies automatically and without thinking.  

“Who’s not here?”

Jemma’s eyes widen at the realization that she’s vocalized her thoughts and that the question had come from an actual person standing next to her.  Her hand slaps across her mouth as she turns toward the person who’d addressed her.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that was out loud,” Jemma explains, grateful for the dimmed lights of the cafeteria which mask her embarrassment.

The girl laughs and holds out her hand.  “I’m Katie.  I see you sometimes coming out of Carlton Hall.  I live on the first floor.”

Jemma nods, offering a smile.  Taking the girl’s hand, she shakes it.  “Right.  Now that you mention it, I have seen you around.  I’m Jemma.”

“I know.”

She raises her eyebrow and looks at the girl cautiously.  “I’m sorry?”  

Katie laughs again and casually pulls her long, curly dark hair to one shoulder.  “Everyone talks about you.  You’re the one they say got recruited out of high school.”

“Well-- not quite,” Jemma attempts to correct.  

Katie smiles and shakes her head.  “Either way everyone knows who you are, Jemma Simmons. You’re practically a celebrity around here.  Your work on the Spartoi genome?  Ahead of its time!” She exclaims.  “Who’re you looking for anyway?”  

“Leo Fitz.  He’s my lab partner.”  As Jemma says his name, a frustrated sigh escapes her lips. Tracking him, she thinks, might be more difficult than she’d ever expected.  

There are fleeting moments when she believes they could really be friends.  Weaver’s not wrong-- they do have a lot in common and he’s beginning to talk to her more.  But then there are moments when he snaps at her, correcting her or suggesting that she’s in some way intellectually inferior because she’s  _ just a biochemist _ .

The conclusions he makes about her are ridiculous as her I.Q is higher than his and she handily surpasses him in the testing cycle.  He’d grumbled miserably when she’d shown him her grade and then responded by telling her that she spent too much time on her homework. For the week that follows, he’d managed to avoid her; an impressive feat in light of the fact that their schedules were practically identical.  

It’s because of his overreaction to her achievements that Jemma decides to employ a tactic she’d learned in her Psychology class back at university.  She purposefully pays attention to the moments that he responds positively to; she’s noticed that he likes being right, so she intentionally sets up opportunities for him to boast.  When Fitz makes a distant comment about how he’s always wanted to see a transistorized blast gun up close, she tells him about the Howard Stark museum and purposefully mentions that it’s located in the basement of the cafeteria.   She knows full well that it’s in the library but as planned, Fitz takes the bait and insists that she’s wrong.  When he smugly holds up his tablet and points to its location on the campus map, she can’t help the smile that crosses her face.  

She’s also noticed a miniature TARDIS hooked to the zipper of his laptop bag and when Halloween arrives, she makes a point of dressing as one of the doctors.  She’s unsure which is Fitz’s favourite, but when she finds a felt Panama hat stuffed in a corner of the local Goodwill, she figures the Fourth will do.  It’s out of pure luck that she runs in to him at the library on Halloween and she concocts a need for his notes, feigning confusion over the differences between the Rigellians and Rhunians.

_ As if anyone could ever mistake the two.   _

She’s amazed that he doesn’t see through her ploy and she can’t help herself when she ties her scarf around his neck.  Jemma, at last, thinks that she’s gotten better at being a tracker.  

When Fitz emails her his notes, she’s surprised to find him congratulating her for having identified the mechanisms of the antibiotic resistance of the Morani earlier that day.  It’s because of Jemma, he notes, that S.H.I.E.L.D can now engineer a retrovirus to prepare for possible bioelectric warfare.  She’s so stunned by the compliment that she prints out a copy of his message and tacks it to the cork board in her room.  

It’s because of that sudden shift in Fitz’s behaviour that Jemma is baffled by his absence at the Halloween party.  She’d figured he’d at least come to make fun of the consumer nature of the holiday and criticize everyone’s costumes.  She mentions as much to Katie, desperate for some perspective on the situation and she’s surprised by the mischievous smile that creeps across the older girl’s face. 

“Rumour has it he’s been brought before the review board.  I heard he had like fifty complaints filed against him.”

“That’s absurd!” Jemma declares. “He’s not that bad!”

Katie raises her eyebrows at Jemma, expectant.

“They can’t expel him!”  Jemma corrects, stopping herself before she adds,  _ he’s being tracked _ .

Weaver would never expel him, transfer him maybe. But certainly, she thinks, expulsion wouldn’t be something they’d consider.

“What’s he like?”  Katie asks, leaning forward.  “Is he as smart as they say?  I heard that he has plans to build an updated version of the Godkiller Armor.  Do you think he really can do that?”

Jemma furrows her brows, confused by Katie’s perception of Fitz.  Howard Stark had long buried the designs for the deadly armor, it was something S.H.I.E.L.D had taught the students in their first week of classes.  No engineer, however talented, could possibly even begin to replicate the blueprints.  

“The Godkiller?” Jemma says at last.  “Goodness, I should think not.  He’s a bit unruly to deal with and a genius at weapons development, certainly.  But the Godkiller is a bit extreme, no?  No one outside of the Starks have ever managed to even come close to correctly creating something like it.”

Katie nods and absently pulls out her phone and taps her thumb against its face.  “Sorry,” she says apologetically, absently waving her phone.  “I forgot to tell my friend where to find me.”  She taps a few more times against its keyboard and tucks the phone back into her pocket, returning her attention to Jemma.  “Well, this  _ is _ the Academy, right?  If anyone can develop the Godkiller, it’s someone here.”

“But it’s so dangerous!”

“Absolutely.  But isn’t that the point of S.H.I.E.L.D?  If we’re not at the forefront, developing weapons like the Godkiller, then what’s the point of all this?”  She pauses, eyeing the crowd that dances in front of her. “I’d wager that some enemy agencies have already secured students-- like your partner-- to develop weapons for them.  Remember Hydra?”

“Well that’s absurd! Fitz isn’t Hydra,”  Jemma exclaims.  “S.H.I.E.L.D defeated Hydra during the war.  It’s long gone.”

Katie cocks her head to the side and eyes Jemma carefully.  “It doesn’t have to be Hydra.  It doesn’t even have to be anything,” she notes.  “Many a terrorist has operated on his own accord.  Your Leo Fitz wouldn’t be the first.”

Her words linger in the air, stunning Jemma into silence.  When she finally regains her voice it’s not to address Katie’s comments.  It’s instead to complain about the loud music and it’s impact on her newly developed headache.  As she excuses herself, Jemma’s mind spins with the new information.

As she sets out into the night in search of her lab partner, there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’s been missing something all along. Perhaps Katie is right and Leo Fitz has lulled her into a false sense of security.

...

When she arrives at Fitz’s building, her fingers swipe through the computerized directory at the entryway, seeking his buzzer identification.  Emery... Ezekiel... Farthington… Fitz.  With his name before her, her stomach climbs into her throat.  Her fingers shake and she has to dial his number twice just to get it right.  The line rings out more times than Jemma thinks to count and eventually disconnects.  She’s about to try for a second time, when the cell in her pocket vibrates.  

Her phone’s call display lists  _ Number Unknown  _ as the caller _. _  “Hello?” She greets cautiously.

“Jemma?” The voice replies.  “This is Agent Weaver.”  

“Oh!”  She squeaks, surprised by the call from her superior.  Pressing the phone closer to her ear as though it would muffle any sound, she moves away from the doorway and onto the sidewalk.   “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Weaver replies.  “In fact, I was just calling to commend you.  We understand you’ve made great strides with our… little project, shall we say. Everything seems to be right on track.”

Jemma’s brows furrow.  “You mean, he’s still… I’m not... He hasn't...”  Her eyes scan the area that surrounds her, fearful that someone could approach at any moment.

“We’re very pleased with your progress. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”  

“Really?”

“Yes.  Certainly.”  Before Jemma can ask about the Godkiller Armor, or at the very least report on the rumours, there’s a muffling on the line.  “I must run,” Weaver says hurriedly.  “I just wanted to let you know that we’re excited by your progress.  You know where to find me if you need anything.”  

Jemma opens her mouth to respond but the line cuts, silencing her. She can’t help her confusion, she’s unsure of why Weaver feels that she’s been successful when she’s done nothing deserving of the compliment.

With a deep sigh, she turns on her heel and her body slams into a large mass that seems to have suddenly appeared before her. As she steadies herself, there’s a cry of surprise upon her lips, but a familiar voice calls out angrily instead.

“Bloody hell!  Will you watch--”

“Fitz!” She exclaims a little more loudly than she’d intended.  His blue eyes widen; he’s as surprised to see her as she is to see him.

_ Where did he come from? _  Her mind instantly runs through her side of the conversation with Weaver, fearful of what she may have said aloud. “I--uh…” she continues, stuttering, desperate to find a legitimate excuse for her presence outside of his building.

“Why're you here?”  He asks.  

Her mind stalls and it’s then that she notices that he’s pale and disheveled.  His eyes dart from side to side in search of something.  “Is everything okay?” she asks, ignoring his question. His behaviour is unusual even for him and she thinks he seems panicked or even afraid.

“It’s fine.  Everything is fine,” he assures her.  Shaking his head, he repeats his question. “Why're you outside of my dorm?”

“I-- I--”

He shakes his head again and bites at the tip of his finger.  “Never mind.  I returned your scarf, if that’s what you’re looking for.  I left it with your building's security.”  Fitz’s heel bounces, his impatience written in every action.

“Oh. Okay,” she nods.  Her scarf had been the last thing on her mind, she’d practically forgotten about it.  The silence between them is deafening as Jemma searches for something more to add, something that further justifies her presence. “You didn’t come to the party,” she says at last.

Fitz’s eyes soften, surprising Jemma.  It’s a strange reaction to her question, especially for someone who’d been so fidgety seconds earlier.  

His hand runs the length of his tie, his fingers pulling it away from his torso.  “Yea-- there was some things I just needed to do.”  His thumb jerks over his shoulder, motioning toward the entryway and when his hand nervously moves to his hair for the second time, she notices the ring at his finger. It catches the brightness of the streetlight and seems to almost glitter, its orange hue so vibrant that Jemma’s interest in the object is instantly peaked.

“That’s a lovely ring,” she remarks, pointing toward his hand.  “Where did you get it?”

Fitz’s face darkens, the softness it’d once held lost. He digs his hand into the pocket of his sweater. “It was my da’s,” he says, his voice a low grumble.

“Oh.  I just thought it looked really familiar.  I must be wrong,” Jemma shrugs her shoulders and tries to remain calm, steadying her breath. She knows she’s seen the ring before.  “The gem is very stunning.  Is it one of a kind?”

“Nah,” Fitz says dismissively, his heel bouncing anew.  “I’m sure there’s probably a million just like it,” he quickly adds.  “Listen: It’s late and I’m bloody knackered, so I’m going in.  If that’s alright with you?”  

He doesn’t wait for her reply.  Instead, he turns and beelines for the front doors of his building.  As he’s about to wave his keycard over the censor, he stops as if having second thoughts. "Simmons?"

"Yea?"

"I can trust you, right?"

With his back to her, she evens her voice and musters as much confidence as she can manage.  "Absolutely."

He weighs her reply and Jemma holds her breath, awaiting his answer. Eventually his head bounces, nodding. “Good.  I’ll see you tomorrow, Simmons.”

Stunned, she replies, “Goodnight Fitz.”

...

When Jemma returns to her own dorm room she immediately tears into every textbook that sits on her bookshelf, desperate to know why she finds Fitz’s ring so familiar. At first she thinks she’ll have the best luck with her geology texts, but those turn up empty.  It’s the same with her books from Cellular biology, Organic chemistry, Genetics and Human Anatomy.   It’s only when she’s flipping through the textbook she figures the least plausible-- Xenoarchaeology-- that she finds what she’s looking for. 

Rare is the occasion that Jemma finds herself swearing, but when her fingers flip to the entry on  _ Adam Warlock  _ she can’t help the word that escapes her lips.  There, under a subheading she finds exactly what she’s looking for.

Time.


	5. Into the Light

Typically when Fitz would jump, the locations were familiar: the A.I.M facility in Glasgow, his mother’s home, the park his dad would take him to when he was a child.  Initially, he’d tried to change the outcome of some of his experiences.  He’d started small by telling his younger self to avoid the jungle gym so that he wouldn’t break his arm.  But no matter what he did, the results were always the same.  Time somehow always corrected itself.  What had already happened was locked in place and he could only stand back and watch.

It’s the future he’s unsure about.  Does time stand firm?  Is he destined to a particular path that is locked into place?  

He’d once considered going to the future but had dismissed the idea; there was nothing there that interested him and the mystery of it all had deterred him.

Fitz’s not exactly sure why he suddenly wants to jump to the future.  He tells himself that it’s for scientific discovery, but there’s a part of him that whispers that it’s because of his lab partner.  He can’t deny that he’s curious about her and her constant desire to engage him in friendship.  

When he lands and opens his eyes for the first time, the heat of the summer sun bears down on him and he almost immediately has to remove his sweater.  Before him is a cobblestone pathway that weaves through a picturesque garden. There is an array of flowers in vibrant reds, pinks and yellows which dot a landscape that is lined with shrubs of various sizes: some stout and round, others tall and overgrown.   

He’s about to make his way toward an unmarked concrete building in the distance when he hears a familiar voice.  Immediately, he makes the decision to duck behind some shrubbery and hopes that he remains unnoticed.  

“It was so interesting, Fitz.”  Fitz hears Jemma’s voice trill as he clears some foliage in order to see better.  “The hardness and strength of the crystals were exceptionally high and then suddenly the internal strains decreased and the--”

“Hardness and strength dropped?”  His future self replies with great interest.

“Yes!  That’s what made the ductility increase!”  

Their conversation is mundane, a standard scientific exchange spliced with scientific jargon similar to the hundreds of conversations he’s heard at the Academy. Fitz begins to regret his decision to jump into the future; he’s not interested in witnessing something he experiences on a daily basis.  

His finger is on the ring, ready to return to his time when his future self comes to a stop and faces Jemma.  “You never cease to amaze me, you realize that?” He declares with admiration in his voice.  It’s the way his future self’s voice rises that causes Fitz to freeze in place.

Jemma grins and bounces on the toes of her converse and runs her hands along the length of his arms.  “I could say the same about you,” she replies softly.  There’s a coyness in her response and Fitz wonders what precipitated it.  She smiles, leans forward and presses her lips to his cheek causing Future Fitz to blush.  His chin tucks against his chest and his hand rubs at the back of his neck.

“We have an hour,” he remarks softly.  “You could come over.”

“Leo Fitz,” Jemma teases, poking her finger into his chest.  “Are you asking me over to your place?”

He shrugs shyly, his face reddening further.  “Yea. I guess I am.”

She bites at the corner of her lip and she tugs at his tie.  “If you’re meaning what I think you mean--”

Before she can finish her sentence, his future self leans forward and with practiced precision his hands cup her face and his mouth captures Jemma’s.  Initially surprised, she’s quick to yield, her body tucking against his and her arms wrapping around to his back, pulling him closer.

Fitz can barely believe what he’s seeing and it sends him backward on his heels and to the ground.  He cries out in surprise and it immediately dawns on him that he’s possibly revealed himself.   Hurriedly, he scrambles to to his feet and hides further in the shrubbery.  When he dares to peer out again, he finds Jemma’s wide eyes staring back. His body freezes in fear and her face softens.

“Do you see anything?” Future Fitz asks from the other side of the pathway.

Her eyes don’t leave her discovery as she shakes her head.  “Nope. Nothing.”  A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth and she winks at him, confusing him further.  “Come,” she calls, standing back up and brushing the grass and dirt from her jeans.  She turns toward Future Fitz. “It was probably just an animal.  If we stay here any longer our lunch break will be over and Coulson will have our heads.”  She takes his hand and pulls him away and out of sight of where Fitz hides.

When the coast is clear and their voices are a soft murmur in the distance, he ventures out of his hiding place.  His head spins with the new information and when he returns back to the present, his disorientation causes his jump to land him outside of his building and colliding with the Jemma of his time. He knows she must find him startled, but in truth, he is.  

Throughout his life his mum had warned him not to trust anyone.  They’d spent the years following his father’s death in hiding, much of it protected by their tight-nit community.  There was an underlying current of fear that A.I.M would seek retribution.  For what, he was and still remains unsure of.  

To keep him protected, a network of astrophysicists and mechanical engineers that had worked with his father agreed to homeschool him.  As far as his mum was concerned, their life was normal.  That is normal until the age of 13, when one of the astrophysicists slipped up.

“When your father’s through with his mission, I’m sure he’ll be excited about the progress you’ve made,” the man had said.  

The statement was so dismissive and casual that Fitz thought he’d misheard.  As far back as he could remember, he’d always believed that his father had died and here was someone telling him the opposite.

“Is my father still alive?” he’d asked.

As though finally realizing his mistake, the man instantly jumped to his feet and excused himself. Fitz never saw him again and when he’d gathered enough courage to ask after him, his mother had clicked her tongue and said, “never you mind.  That man is not right in his head.”  And that had been the end of it.  Any further attempts to broach the subject were ignored.

Sometimes, when he felt that he could trust someone enough, he’d talk about his father, asking for their help in investigating what had really happened.  Each time, without fail, they’d give a sheepish nod and within a few days they’d be gone; never to be seen or heard from again.

It all seemed much too convenient and he’d try to locate them through the various backchannels he’d found online.   But it’s as though they were ghosts, their names scrubbed from existence.

Once he’d even dared to show his roommate at M.I.T the ring his father had left him.  James had seemed thoroughly impressed, but within hours he’d been killed.  The only witness to his murder told police that the killer had been summoned from a lantern by a man with white hair; the fatal blow coming via a current of energy from the sky.

Immediately the witness’s account was dismissed and James’ murder remained unsolved.

From that moment forward, Fitz swore to keep to himself even if it was at the expense of making friends or allies in his quest for the truth.

He’d held onto that promise for years until Jemma Simmons was shoehorned into his life. What had begun as an annoying inconvenience had grown into an irrepressible pull that he couldn’t deny. Perhaps she’d encouraged it with her incessantly friendly chatter.  But regardless, he’d made the decision to jump for the first time to the future and had inadvertently discovered that his future included her.

It’s because of that very reason that he decides to jump to the future a second, then a third and a fourth time… 

…

Days later, when Fitz tells Jemma that he was asked out on a date, she is confused. Fitz is rarely without her and when he is, she knows from the way people speak of him that he’s not particularly liked.  She’s so stunned that her mouth opens and closes, her words failing her.

“Why are you so shocked?” He asks as he screws in the last of the parts into the diametric observer.  “I’m not that bad looking.”

“No--! You’re not at all.”  Her face reddens at the realization of what she’s said.  “I mean… I just didn’t realize you were interested in someone.  That’s all.”

“All done,” he says placing the object onto the lab table.  Jemma picks it up and with a syringe in hand inserts the compound. “I never said that I was  _ interested _ .  I just said that I’d been asked out.”

“She asked  _ you _ out?”

“Is that so shocking?”

Jemma’s eyes fall quickly to the diametric observer.  “No,” she says unconvincingly.  “Who is she?  Do I know her?”

Fitz shrugs.  “Maybe.  I think she lives in your building.  Katie Cooper.”

She looks up from her work.  “Katie Cooper?”

“Yea, why?”

“Dark, curly hair? Katie Cooper.  From Carlton Hall?”

“Yea.”  He shakes his head.  “God, Simmons.  You really need to work on your poker face.  Is it so out of the realm of possibility for someone to be interested in me?”

Her eyes narrow and eyebrows furrow.  He’s misunderstanding her surprise.  “It’s just that we were talking about you the other day.”

“Yea?”  His eyes light up as he presses for more information.  “What did she say?”

Jemma returns her attention to the observer that now shakes in her hand.  “Nothing in particular,” she says intentionally dismissive.  “She just wanted to know if you were as brilliant as they say.”

Fitz straightens and puffs out his chest.  “Go on!”

She raises her hand to indicate to the professor the completion of their project.  “All done.”  

“Come on now, tell me.”

She swallows hard.  While her conversation with Katie had seemed innocent enough, she hadn’t been able to shake the odd feeling that had plagued her since that night.  Initially Jemma had attributed it to her own discovery of the origins of Fitz’s ring, but now it all felt too coincidental.

“She thinks you’re talented,” she decides on, tucking their project into its submission bin.  Jemma folds her fingers before her and takes a deep breath.  “So when is your date?”

“What date?”

Her shoulders slump forward and she eyes him carefully.  “Your date with Katie.”

Fitz shakes his head, his fingers tapping lightly against the bin.  “I never said I had a date with her.”

“But I thought she’d asked you out.”

“She asked me out, yeah.  But I never said that I’d agreed to it.”  He laughs.  “Where would I find the time?  I plan on moving my way through S.H.I.E.L.D and that girl isn’t going to get in the way.”

“How’d ya mean?”

He looks at her incredulously.  “Katie is dumb as bricks, always on and on about the Godkiller Armor.  There’s no way S.H.I.E.L.D will keep her on.”

A gasp of laughter escapes from her and Jemma’s hand flies to her mouth to mask it.

“I prefer to work with people who match my intellect.  Don’t you?” Fitz asks as he steps from his stool, taking the bin in hand.  It’s a rhetorical question as he doesn’t wait for her answer and begins to move toward the front of the class.  If he had waited for one, Jemma’s certain of what she’d say.  

Her answer would be yes.

She realizes the ethical problem it presents but she’d be lying if she said otherwise.  In working with Fitz her academic achievements have skyrocketed and she knows the same to be true of him.  Together they are a team to be reckoned with… in spite of the secrets she keeps from him.  

Since Jemma’s discovery of the ring’s origins, she’s tried to be extra careful around her lab partner.  While he’s oddly nicer to her, she has been biding her time unsure of what to do next.  She does her best to keep Fitz in her sights, arranging study groups that include him and inviting him to eat with her at lunch and dinner.

As the weeks pass, she stalls in her investigation.  When she presses Fitz for information about his family he’s unsurprisingly tightlipped. One evening she even dares to mention the Infinity Stones in passing, but her lab partner responds by simply frowning and shaking his head, feigning unfamiliarity with the collection.  The slight blush that appears upon his cheeks says otherwise.

Even her request to research further through the records held in the Echo Chamber is denied.  It baffles her but Weaver is adamant in her decision.

“It is nothing for you to dabble in, Jemma,” she warns.

Jemma is certain she is working for the side of good, knows innately that S.W.O.R.D is an ally to S.H.I.E.L.D and she is fairly confident in the part she plays within it all.  But when they attend the requisite lecture on the history of S.H.I.E.L.D’s interactions with A.I.M and Hydra she is startled by the realization that subversive actions continue to take place behind closed doors.  She can’t help the feeling of uncertainty that creeps up and into her chest.   

What if she’s been mistaken all along?

What if she’s working for the wrong side?

She tries to shrug off her insecurities but it nags at her just the same.  She’s playing with someone’s life. She’s manipulating Leo Fitz.  

Ultimately, what purpose will it all serve?

Does it all really boil down to the Infinity Stone in Fitz’s possession?

“Why would someone be denied access to the Echo Chamber?” she whispers, startling Fitz to attention.    

“What’s that?” He asks as he straightens in his chair.  

Her eyes dart to the front of the class.   The professor is seemingly oblivious to her muted interruption.  “The Echo Chamber.  Why would someone be denied access?”

Fitz shrugs and taps his stylus against his tablet. “Well for starters you need proper clearance. Only someone at Triskelion can authorize its remote use.  What are you trying to find?”

Jemma stares toward the front of the lecture hall, unwilling to meet Fitz’s eyes.  “Just some research for a side project I’m doing.”

He taps again on his tablet.  “How does Thursday work?”

“What?”

“Thursday.  We can access it on Thursday.”

“I don’t understand--”

“There’s this guy I know…  He owes me a favour.  Did you want to use it or not?”

“Yes!”  She exclaims a little too loudly as the professor turns his gaze on her and gives her a warned look. “Yes.  But really, you don’t need to come along.  It’ll be boring.”

Fitz waves her protests off.  “I’ve been dying for a reason to ask for access to the Echo Chamber.”

“Fitz-Simmons!” The professor barks from the front of the class. “Are we finished?  I’d like to get on with the lecture if you don’t mind.”

Jemma mutters an apology and sinks into her chair embarrassed and slightly defeated; her arms cross at her chest.  

“I can’t wait,” he whispers in defiance of the professor’s request.  A grin pulls at his lips as he nudges her in the side with his elbow.

With a tight smile, she can only nod in reply.


	6. Out of this World

Typically the library at the Academy is abuzz with activity regardless of the time of day.  Students at SciTech are notorious for their all nighter study sessions and it has become almost expected to find every available room booked, most especially on a school night.

That’s why, when Fitz and Jemma enter the library on a Thursday she’s stunned to find it devoid of its regular activity.  Aside from the library personnel, there is no one to be seen.  All of the computer stations are empty and the soft cushioned chairs that litter the lobby are without their usual occupants. It’s the quietest outside of exams that she’s ever heard it.

“Where is everyone?” She asks, her voice an unnecessary whisper.

Fitz grins widely.  “I sent out an email blast that there was half price drinks at the Boiler Room.”

“You did what?”

“We need a floor for the Echo Chamber and you know as well as I do that it’s bloody impossible to book out even a room in this place, never mi’ a floor. It won’t work without the space.”

“So you lured the student body away with cheap booze?” She asks disbelieving as she flashes her student card to the attendant monitoring entry onto the elevators.  “What happens when they get to the Boiler Room and they refuse to honour it?”

He bobbles his head from side to side and smiles slyly as the doors to the elevators close.  “I may have also hacked their registers and changed wha’ the prices ring up as.”

“Fitz! Really…!  That’s got to be illegal!”

“Well it’s bloody criminal how much they charge for a pint,” he reasons.  “I say, fair game.”

Jemma narrows her eyes at him, disapproving. Fitz laughs at her reproach and presses the button for their floor.  “You wouldn’t be complaining if ya had a half priced pint in your hands ri’ about now.”

She shakes her head and forces a frown upon her lips.  Inspite of her attempts to be disapproving, she can’t help herself when she bites back a smile.  

When the doors to the elevator open, Jemma finds herself on a floor of the library she’d never previously explored.  There is an immediate and distinct smell of musty books and a low buzzing sound that she assumes comes from the floor’s flickering fluorescent lights.  She rubs at the hairs on her arms that stand in attention.  It seems impossible that S.H.I.E.L.D. would allow such a derelict collection to exist in its typically high-tech library.

“It’s so out of date,” she remarks, scanning the room.  “It feels… almost creepy or something.”  

“This is the only floor that is unmanned by staff.  For some reason they always leave the medieval xenoarchaeology students to their own devices.”

“It’s a bit tedious of a subject, that’s for sure.”  A cold chill runs the length of her spine and she shivers, pulling her blazer tighter across her chest.  “Can we just make this fast then?”

“You’re the one that wanted the time with the Chamber.”

Jemma resists the urge to roll her eyes and instead lets out a sigh of annoyance. Fitz smirks, undaunted by her reaction and bends to his knees to open the oversized satchel that he’d been carrying.  He pulls out a tri-panel laptop and lays it on the floor, quickly keying in permissions.  Within seconds a hologram of a keyboard and screen streak out from the tablet and hover in midair before Jemma.  She reaches for it, eager to type on it; she’d only ever seen the holographic entry module in her textbooks.  

“Don’t touch it!” Fitz warns from the floor.  “We’re not ready yet.  Put this on first.” He holds up what looks to be a white headband with two small boxes at either end.

“What is it?” She asks, turning it over in her hands. “Earphones?”

“No,” he replies shaking his head as he flips the flap to his bag back over.  “It’s something I’ve been working on.  The ends go behind your ears.” He points to his own ears as he rises from the floor.  

She pushes it onto her head like she would a hairband and positions the two boxes behind each of her ears.  “But what is for?”

“Safety insurance,” he says, his face oddly serious.  His reply not completely answering her question.   

She raises her eyebrows at him.  “How come you don’t have wear one?”

“It’s not me that I’m worried about,” Fitz replies simply, turning away and allowing his hands to begin moving swiftly across the translucent keyboard.  He types commands that he seems to know from memory and as Jemma watches she wonders when she decided to trust Fitz so implicitly.  She suspects that if it were a few weeks earlier she’d be tearing the equipment from her hair and refusing his request without sufficient answers.   

“Ready when you are.” Fitz makes his final keystroke causing the holographic stream of light to extend outward.  A virtual wall of blue boxes envelopes most of the room, its hue brightening the floor almost tenfold.

“Incredible!” She says. She’d never imagined something so remarkable.

“It’s quite grand isn’t it?”

“Quite.”  She leans forward and extends her finger toward the image.  When her fingertip touches the side of one of the boxes, the surface tension reacts, pooling away from her touch.  She smiles at how odd it is to feel nothing from the contact but at the same time seeing the impact.   

“Put your hand below it; like it’s a real object,” he suggests, bouncing one of the boxes in his own hand.  “Treat it like you would when using the Holocom table.”

Jemma can’t help but laugh and does as instructed, allowing the box to bounce in her hand.  She pulls at its rounded edges and the box opens before her like a scroll, displaying a stockpile of digital data.  There are photographs, documents, all manner of information and she can’t help the rise of excitement in her chest.   “This is amazing, Fitz. Everything is here?”

He nods.  “Just about, I’d wager.”  

Fitz flattens his hands facing outward and pulls left.  The boxes spin by like a kaleidoscope with many falling into the concrete wall of the library and new ones appearing in their place. He reaches upward and curls his fingers and pulls downward, a screen appearing from thin air.  “Where would you like to start?” He asks motioning toward the keyboard in front of them, oblivious to her true intentions.

Jemma draws in a heavy breath and steels herself, readying for the inevitable reaction.   Reaching across him and she types:

I-N-F-I-N-I-T-Y--S-T-O-N-E--T-I-M-E

_ This is it. _

She watches his reaction from the corner of her eye as the boxes shift before them, dropping to the floor and leaving behind only one which hovers in the air.

Jemma had expected Fitz to respond: to scream, to yell, to accuse her of a myriad of things she’s certain she’s probably guilty of.  But he doesn’t.  Instead, he just stares at the box, allowing the silence and tension to hang between them.

She’d always hated awkward silences.  “Fitz?”  

“So here we are,” he mutters tersely before turning toward her.  “There’s enough out there already about the infinity stones.  Why don’t you search for what you’re really curious about?”

She squares her shoulders and measures her words.  “And what would that be?”

He begins to type; his usually quick fingers typing each letter slow and methodical.  Pointed.

A-N-D-R-E-W--F-I-T-Z

The boxes swirl anew before them, hundreds appearing and then disappearing into the floor and again leaving only one behind.  It hovers, bouncing patiently.

“Go on then,” he says motioning toward the box.  “Have a look.”

She eyes him suspiciously, but steps forward anyway and takes hold of either end of the virtual box.  Her hands grip and pull, opening the file.

Jemma’s unsure if it comes from the box itself, but a sudden wave of nausea hits her, practically knocking her backward.  She tries to steady herself by stepping back from the Echo Chamber walls and grabbing hold of a nearby study carrel.  Her stomach lurches with the movement and she gasps, taking in gulps of air.  She wills herself to breathe but it’s as if the room shifts before her and she collapses to the ground.  Her eyes seek out Fitz, wondering if he can feel it to.  But when she turns her head, he’s gone.  

She calls his name, fear laced in her voice and she can faintly hear him scream hers in reply.  There’s a clap of thunder that deafens her and when she tries to push herself to her feet, her limbs give out.  It’s as if every part of her is made of jelly.

The cloudiness in her ears clears momentarily and she hears Fitz scream her name again. “Simmons!”  

The dim, flickering lights of the library’s fourteenth floor flash a brilliant, blinding white.  Her eyes burn and she struggles to keep them open.  

“Jemma?  Can you still hear me?”   She can but her words choke in her throat.  

When she dares to open her eyes the light still blinds but there’s a body hovering over her that shields much of it.  

“Fitz?”  She coughs out at last.

He nods and reaches behind her ears.  The light dims significantly as though someone slipped a pair of sunglasses over her eyes.  “Hold still.  It should be over soon.”

She closes her eyes, exhaustion and nausea controlling every part of her.  She’s unsure how much time passes and when she dares to open her eyes again it’s not Fitz looking back at her.  

“Leopold?”  The man cocks his head to the side, confused by what he sees.  Jemma stays silent as he runs his hand through his white blonde hair and walks the circumference of her. His ice blue eyes take in the whole of Jemma’s person which lies before him.  

A series of beeps and whirls, mechanical grunts of objection echo around her.  “I know,” the man hisses as though in response to the noise.  “Something must’ve happened.  Do a system reboot, there has to be an error.”  

“Who are you?” she asks.  She can feel the vibrations of her vocal cords, knows that she’s asked a question but when she verbalizes the words, it is not her voice that she hears.  It is Fitz’s.

The man’s face cracks in relief.  “M’boy. Don’t you recognize me?”  He reaches for Jemma’s hand and smiles.  “Think.  You know who I am.”  It’s then that she realizes there’s a soft lilt of Scottish brogue in the man’s voice and while his eyes are paler, they are familiar.  “Send him back down!” The man commands over his shoulder.  “Before he’s missed.”

She opens her mouth to question him further, but a wave of nausea hits her again.  This time she feels the sensation of being pulled downward, like a large vacuum suctioning her back.  She braces for impact but impact never comes.

…

Fitz counts every second that she’s gone; one breath in, one breath out.  It feels like hours pass but he knows from his count that it’s been less than a minute.  When she finally reappears before him in the same position and place that she’d disappeared from, he can’t help the relief that spreads across his face.   She groans and brings her hand to her head;  she’s a little dizzy and unstable from the journey she knows understands little about.

“What happened?” She asks, sitting up and ripping his latest invention from her head.   “Did you do this to me?”  Jemma asks angrily, shaking it before him.  “Answer me!”  

“Hey!” He says, carefully cocooning the headband in his hands.  “Watch how you toss that ‘round.  It bloody well saved your life.”

“What did you do? What is that thing?”  

“This is an Identity Scrambler,” he says.  He places the headband into his satchel and folds up his tablet, shutting down the Echo Chamber in the process.  “ _ I _ didn’t do anything.”

He can tell that she is disbelieving as her voice seems to practically growl when she asks, “Then what happened?”

Fitz slings his bag over his head and onto his shoulder and stands, facing her.  In his silence he is weighing his options, uncertain if he should proceed.  He considers what he knows about the future and figuring he has no other choice, he says, “I think you met my da’.  And if I had to guess, I’m almost certain he pulled you to Spartax.”

“Spartax?  You mean--?”

He nods slowly.  “My dad isn’t on Earth.”


	7. When the stars and moon collide

When Fitz sees the state of disarray his room is in he groans; had he realized that he would be bringing a guest over he would’ve at the very least made an effort to tidy things up.  He hates having his personal items on display, most especially if it will allow for someone as overly curious as his lab partner to make erroneous conclusions about him. 

“Come in,” he says half-heartedly, waving Jemma inside.  “Don’t mind the mess.”  He kicks his shoes off and pushes them into a corner with his feet.  He removes his satchel and carefully places it on the chair at his desk.

Jemma smiles blandly as her eyes wander the room, taking everything in.  “You’ve got quite a lot of stuff here,” she says, motioning to the shelves and floors that are piled high with computer pieces and metalworks.

“Yea.  I get a lot of it on the secondary market.  Cheaper tha’ way.”

“Why not keep it in your lab storage lock-up?”

He shrugs and shifts some clothes on his bed so that he can sit. “Don’ want any of it to get stolen, so I keep it here. It’s probably why my station is always so clean.”

Jemma nods and continues to take in the rest of the room, examining every inch of surface.   “What’s this?”  She asks, pointing toward a stack of drafting sketches that sit on his dresser.  Her fingers carefully lift the pages, examining each.

“They be Samurai micro-drones,” he says matter-of-factly, leaning back on his hands.  “Ideally there’d be seven in total, each serving a separate function.  This way when technicians are forced to comb through rubble, they can just send those lil’ beauties in instead. They’re meant to read composition, structure, analyse properties, take photographs and even listen in on conversations.  I’ve managed to finish one with the parts I had laying about.  I’ve programmed tha’ one there--” he points to a quadcopter that sits on his nightstand.  “--to take radiographic images.  I’m almost certain I can get it to do tomography and fluoroscopy as well; it’s quite clever.”

“Remarkable,” Jemma says, her fingers tracing his meticulously drawn sketches.  “This way you don’t have to go near the scene. You won’t get dirty.” She turns toward him.  “You should tell Weaver about this.  I bet she’d give you a grant to build the rest of them.”

He shrugs and rubs his hand against the back of his neck.  “I dunno.  I figured she’d think it was rubbish.”

She shakes her head.  “No.  Really they’re great. It’s like the seven dwarfs.  You’ve even got a Dopey one!”

“How’d you mean?”

She points to his sketches.  “This one’s meant to detect metabolites.  Get it? Dope-y?”

Fitz can’t help but chuckle at her suggestion.  “I’ll think about it,” he says, trying to sound as passive as possible.  What he’s really thinking is that the name Drones Wirelessly Automated to Retrieve Forensics would make for a perfect fit.

Jemma moves his satchel onto his desk and takes a seat on his chair, her hands folded in her lap.  “So,” she says pointedly, and it is with that simple word the mood of the room shifts almost immediately.  “I want to hear about your father.  What happened today.”

He shifts awkwardly in his seat and rests his forearms on his thighs.  “Honestly, I don’t know much about him.  For the longest time I’d thought he’d died in an explosion while working for A.I.M.”

“A.I.M?  Your dad was a terrorist?”

Fitz shakes his head furiously and studies his fingers which twist and knot before him.  “From what I can gather, he was placed there as a sort of spy by the Spartoi government.  They were looking for something called the Cosmic Cube. It was rumoured to distort reality; it’s not meant to be on Earth. It’s too powerful.  What he found instead was something equally powerful, but in a different way.”

“The Infinity Stone?”

He nods.  “I’m not entirely certain how it found its way to Earth, but I suspect at some point it was hidden here by Adam Warlock--”

“And found by A.I.M.” Jemma adds.

“I think you can appreciate how dangerous that co’ be.  I mean it’s the bloody power of time.”

“You could change anything about the past!”

Fitz shakes his head, his brows furrowing.  “I’ve tried. To change the past, that is.  I’ve tried to stop my da’ from leaving among other things.  But I haven’t been able to.  The past always seems to correct itself. It’s the future that I think has more fluidity.  If you know the future, you can alter the present.  I mean someone could bring advanced weapons here.  Can you imagine the destruction?  No government or organization would be able to counter an attack li’ that.”

“But why do  _ you _ have the ring?”

He shrugs, unable to meet her eyes.  “Safe keeping?  Honestly I don’t know.  Before my da’ disappeared, he handed it to me and told me I needed to keep it safe and hidden.  That he couldn’t tell me why.  All I know is that it’s meant to be a back up plan to a back up plan. Whatever the hell that means.”

Jemma’s eyes widen.  She’d heard that expression before.  “When I first came to the Academy, Agent Weaver said that very thing to me.”  She opens her mouth to say more, but thinks better of it and purses her lips shut.

“As far as I can figure there are forces trying to protect the damn thing.  Trying to protect  _ me _ .”  

“Is that why you gave me the Identity Scrambler?”

He nods.  “It was something I’d been working on.  It transforms the wearer into anyone you program it to.  I programmed it so that it would transform you into me.  If anyone looked at you or heard you speak, they’d think it was me.”

“And that’s why your father sent me back.  He thought I was you.”

“Ri’.”  He runs his hand through his hair.  “I think he’s trying to protect me.   If someone tries to get too close or knows too much, they just disappear.  Literally.  You’re the not the first.”

“What’s your dad doing on Spartax?  Is he Spartoi?”  She asks, seemingly ignoring his revelation that she’s not the first to have disappeared.

“Honestly?  I have no idea.” Fitz worries his lip as he considers how much more he should divulge.  He wonders if his future self had made the right choice in trusting the girl that sits before him.   “He was an engineer.  If he’s human, he was a damn near brilliant engineer.”

“How do you not know?  We had to have a medical done before we were admitted into the Academy.  Have you never had a blood test done?”  Jemma leans forward, fascinated.

“Nev’r.  When I was younger my mum didn’t allow it to happen.  My da’ said that he was human, but he was always so cagey about everythin’, we were never entirely certain. So we just avoided the doctors.  When I had to do the physical, I falsified the report.  Paid a lad in Edinburgh for a blood sample.”  He shrugs, indifferent to the deception he’s orchestrated.  “It worked.  I’m here, as you see.”

“So there’s a possibility that you’re Spartoi?”  

“Yes. Unlikely, but yes.  It’s possible.”

Jemma is silent for a moment.  Her chin presses into the palm of her hand and he wonders if he has said too much.  She looks thoroughly flummoxed sitting in his chair and he can’t help but chastise himself, he’s clearly made a mistake letting her into the mess that is his life.

At last she breaks her silence and says slowly, “I studied the Spartoi genome at Cambridge.  I did my bloody dissertation on it.”  Her eyes meet his, wide and incredulous.  “I can test you.  No one will ever know.”

“Really?  You’d do that?”

She nods and the heaviness upon his chest lifts ever so slightly.  “Tomorrow in the lab I can.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, relieved to finally be able to have answers he’s wanted for much of his life.

“Just one question though.  Why’re you telling me all this?  Why trust  _ me _ of all people?”

…

Her heart beats in her throat when she asks him the question she’s been wondering since she’d entered his room.  She’s not sure what his answer will be, assumes that something must have precipitated his decision; it can’t solely be because of what had happened at the library.

He wastes no time in replying.  “I’ve seen the future, Jemma.”

She’s taken aback by his sudden use of her first name.  It suggests a familiarity that she’s not sure that they yet share.  She chooses not to address it and instead asks, “What did you see?”

He doesn’t answer.  Instead he stands up and moves toward his dresser and opens a drawer.  He pushes aside clothes and she hears a faint beep and a whirling sound, as though something releases from under his bed.  She watches as Fitz, with purpose, returns to his bed and reaches under the mattress.  When he stands upright he’s holding a black silk bag out toward her.  

“How’d ye like to see the future?”

She takes the bag from him tentatively and empties its contents into her hand.  The glistening orange Infinity Stone embedded into a ring falls into her palm.  She draws in a deep, shaky breath.  “You want me to use it?  I couldn’t!”

He nods.  “Yes you can.  I’m not asking you to change anything.  Just watch. Observe.  Then come back.  It’ll be fine so long as you don’t talk to anyone and keep yourself hidden.” Fitz picks up the ring and turns her hand over.  With care he slides it on to her finger.  Again she’s left wondering if she should be affronted by his boldness.  He seems to sense her hesitancy and without letting go of her hand, he adds, “I think you’ll find some answers.”

“What do I do?”

“Just turn the stone and think of  _ who _ you want to see.   _ When  _ you want to land.  The rest just sorts itself out.”  He steps back from her.  “Ready?”

Her heart pounds heavily against her chest.  “I think so.”  

“Good luck.”  He reaches forward and turns the stone.  The room begins to shift with it and Jemma feels herself fall backward into an emptiness that seems to swallow her.  

Her mind desperately clings to the information that Fitz had given her and to her destination in time.  Somehow when she lands, she lands on her feet; it’s as though she’d never been falling and had simply appeared where she was meant to.

When she looks around she can’t help but feel unsure.  Her hands clasp nervously before her and she makes a decision to, at the very least, explore the long, stark white hallway before her.  There are no signs to identify her location, only a black S.H.I.E.L.D logo.  While she notices the slight difference in its design, she can’t help but worry that perhaps she’d done something wrong while being transported.  Perhaps she’s back at the Academy.

“There you are!” A familiar voice calls out.  She turns and finds Fitz quickly walking toward her.  At first her brain registers it as the Fitz she’d just left behind and she’s about to ask him what had happened, but as he approaches she realizes that she is mistaken.  This Fitz is more sure in his step; there’s a confidence that she’d never seen before and it becomes quickly apparent that this is the future version of her lab partner.  

Her eyes dart to the side, searching for a quick exit.  She knows it’s futile as he’s already spotted her, but she can’t help herself.  She tries to focus her mind to think up a plausible excuse and hopes that this Fitz of the future doesn’t find her presence to be unusual.  

“Fitz!” She chirps, her voice cracking.  When he smiles she notices that his face is slightly aged with new crinkles at the corners of his eyes.  

“Come, love.” His hand links into hers and in one swift move he’s opening a door and pulling her through.  

Jemma can’t help but gasp at the action, there’s deftness to it and when he’s closing the door behind them it speaks of practice. The room is small and there are paper reams and packs of pencils lined on shelves. Fitz reaches up and pulls at a chain and a single bulb brightens the room.  Jemma shakes her head slightly, allowing her hair to fall a little more loosely around her face.  She hopes that this Fitz doesn’t realize that she’s not the Jemma of his time.

“Why’d you switch clothes?  You know wha’ it does to me when you wear that purple number,” he teases.  His body moves closer to hers and Jemma steps backward attempting to widen the space between them; she can’t think properly with him so near. When her back finally hits the shelf, a box of pencils falls to the floor, clattering noisily.   

“S-sorry,” she stutters. Without missing a beat, Fitz bends down, grabbing the box from the floor and reaches over her shoulder to return it to its place.  The action puts him within a breath’s distance of Jemma and she smiles stiffly, fighting to keep herself steady.  Her heart beats into her throat.

“Coulson was impressed by yer analysis of Karogorgan. He even called Hill to brag about ye after you’d left.  I think she threatened to convince Stark to snatch you up if Coulson didn’t stop.”  

“Wonderful!”  She squeaks.  She has no idea what he’s talking about and even if she did, his hand rubs at her hip and it distracts her.  Jemma tries to mentally dig for a better reply when he ducks his head and flicks his tongue against her jaw and kisses a trail toward her ear.  A surprised noise escapes from her mouth and she freezes, red with embarrassment. Fitz doesn’t seem notice as the room is filled with shadows and he’s too occupied.  

“If she ever tried to take you away,” he whispers wantonly, his teeth nibbling at the skin of her earlobe.  “I think I’d stick Grumpy after her.  You know how he can be…”

His mouth moves to hover over hers and she nods her head, barely able to breathe, hoping that her body doesn’t look as stiff and awkward as she feels.

When his mouth captures hers at last, Jemma freezes under him.  She’s inexperienced and unsure... and  _ it’s Fitz _ .  But then his hands cup at her backside, pulling her tighter against him and all thought is instantly chased away. A fever seems to envelop her; she can’t help but relent beneath him, allowing her body to relax and wrapping her arms at his neck and shoulders.

His lips are frantic, hot and desperate and her heart races as she responds in kind.  Jemma’s fingers snake into the curls of his hair and she thinks that kissing someone she can barely tolerate most days shouldn’t feel this good, but it does.  Their limbs tangle messily and his tongue runs against her lip causing an involuntary, contented sigh to surface from Jemma’s throat. Fitz’s mouth smiles against her lips and his fingers lift at the back her shirt, exposing her skin.  His hand is cold, a stark contrast to the heat of his body against her and as his lips play against hers; his fingers drive further up her spine to hook into her bra.

Her head lolls back and it feels as if her skin is tightening beneath his touch.  A voice in her head whispers for her to stop, reminds her that she was never meant to engage with the future.  But then Fitz’s free hand laces into hers, pinning it over her head and against the shelf.  She wants to chastise herself for the moan that escapes when his teeth pull at her bottom lip, but she can’t; every part of her is yielding to him voluntarily, like a magnetic force that she can’t control.  

“Shit!” He says suddenly, pulling away from her breathless and wild eyed. “Shit, shit, shit!” He drops his hold on her and steps away, his hand to his mouth.  

Jemma’s chest rises and falls in quick succession as she shakily rights her clothes.  Her fingers press against her own swollen lips and she tries to sound calm when she asks, “What?  Is something wrong?  Did I do something wrong?”

Fitz’s head tilts to the side and his hands fly to his hips.  “Seriously? Jemma, you have the bloody ring on ye!”

She snatches her hand from her face and tucks it behind her back.  Cringing at her own blatant stupidity, she apologizes weakly, unsure of what else she can even say.

“When are ye from? SciOps?” he asks.

“What?”

He curses again and turns away from her, a hand running anxiously through his hair.  “It’s probably too early on.  God, you’re still at the Academy, aren’t you?  Is this your first jump? It is, init?  Why wouldn’t she--” he shakes his head and looks at her.  “I mean, why didn’t  _ you _ tell me?  Didn’t I warn you not to get involved when you jump? To be a passive observer?”

Jemma straightens herself, his overly familiar bossy tone giving her courage and wherewithal. “Of course!  But tell me at what point was I meant to stop you?”

At her reply, Fitz’s face cracks into a grin and he chuckles inspite of himself.  “Fair point.  Remind me, are we proper friends yet?”

Jemma blushes and her eyes dart to the floor.  “I-- uh…not particularly.”

“Ah, Jems,” he says with a softened voice.  “Ye still think I’m a miserable prat, don’t ye?”  She remains silent but the pink tinge at her cheeks darken, betraying her.

“That’ll change soon enough,” he says warmly, stepping nearer to her. His hand tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and the action is done with such ease and familiarity that it’s as though he’s done it a thousand times before.   “Listen love, don’t be so scared about everythin’.”

“I’m not scared!” She declares, batting his hand away.

He smiles and ignores her opposition when his fingers move to play with the cuff of her sleeve.  He touches her lightly as if not to frighten her.  “If ye say so.  You forget that hindsight is 20/20.  I know what’s in there,” he says tapping her chest in the spot where her heart lays.

“You know nothing about me,”  she says, her voice a false bravado.  

Fitz smiles and breathes a tiny sigh.  “If ye say so,” he repeats.  His hand reaches for her, cupping her face and he leans forward, pressing his lips to the corner of Jemma’s mouth.  Her body reflexes toward him, yearning.  

_ What the hell is wrong with me?  _ She thinks, her fingers curling at his shirt sleeve.

“You’ve got to go back,” he whispers, and it’s all she can manage when she nods her head in reply.

Fitz steps back and takes her hand in his and twists the ring at her finger sending her back into the vortex.

When the blackness subsides, the room returns into focus and she’s sitting in the very same chair she’d left from.

“You’re back!” Fitz says, leaping from his bed.  “How’d it go? What’dya see?”

She nods her head, unable to form a coherent answer.  She can’t help but feel overwhelmed and stunned by what is in store for her future.  

_ A future with Fitz... _

Her heart thumps loud and quick in her chest and she wants desperately to ask Fitz if he’s seen what she saw.  She’s confused by what it means; how did they even begin to get to that point?   But Jemma is intimidated by the feelings that are beginning to surface within her.  She has a job to do, she’s Fitz’s tracker; she should be distant and unfeeling.

“I need to go,” she says suddenly, rising from the chair and ripping the ring from her finger, slapping it onto his desk.  

“What?  Why?”  His hand takes hold of her arm, trying to stop her.  

She pulls her arm away.  “Just leave me alone,” she cries, pushing past him and blindly grabbing his door handle, yanking the door open.  “We can’t be doing this!”

“Doing what?” he asks, but she ignores him and races down his hall, desperate to escape.  She feels raw and disoriented, her heart swollen and in pain; everything she’d previously understood feels as if it has been turned on its head. 


	8. For You

The next day is awkward as Jemma knows that she owes Fitz an explanation but she has none to offer.  He hasn’t broached the subject, yet the looks that he gives her may as well replace the questions that she thinks he’d ask.  While she’s a master at avoiding uncomfortable topics, she’s terrible at lying outright.  

Jemma lacks the words to fully explain what she’d witnessed--  rather, experienced-- and if she thinks further about it, she doesn’t particularly like knowing that her entire future is laid out in front of her like a landmark waiting to be passed.  She likes that she has  _ choice _ .  Before yesterday she would’ve chosen to keep her lab partner at an arm’s length.  She would’ve chosen to finish her job as tracker and obtain the information that Weaver and Brand had requested.  Before yesterday she wouldn’t have cared what Fitz thought of her or the story she was spinning.

But that was all  _ before yesterday _ .

Her fingers stumble when she begins to tie the tourniquet around Fitz’s upper arm; she’s a wreck and she knows that he can sense it.  She can’t stop thinking about the feel of his arms enveloping her, or the trace of his tongue against her lips.  She wants to forget how impassioned, earnest and gentle he’d been.  If she can only just dial in the memory of the haughty boy at orientation who’d told her to watch where she was walking, perhaps she can regain control.

“You’re awful red,” Fitz remarks as she rubs alcohol over the crook of his arm. “Ye ill?”

“I’m fine.”  She taps his vein with a little more force than she intends.

“You’re going to catch my vein ri’?  I’m not going to end up being your personal pin cushion, am I?” He’s trying to bring levity to their situation and she allows a small smile to ghost upon her lips as she inserts the needle.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”  

_ There we are then, _ she thinks angrily as her face flushes even further.  She knows that her ire is misguided but she can’t help herself; she’s desperate to rebuild the walls she’d so carefully had in place.  She hates that she let Fitz so easily break through.

Her head shakes as she removes the blood filled tube from the needle.  “Nothing happened,” she lies as she withdraws the needle and places a band-aid over the puncture site.  “I just-- I didn’t think…” She purses her lips, cutting herself off before she says too much.  

He doesn’t seem to notice the high-pitch of her voice.  “How far did ye go?”

“10 years.”

He whistles.  “Lord, Simmons.  It’s a bit far, no?”

“It’s fine,” she says.  “Nothing happened.”  It’s an excuse she’s been telling herself over and over again, hoping that eventually she’ll believe it.  Nothing had happened when she’d let him grab her, pulling her into a storage closet.  Nothing had happened when she’d let him kiss her until he’d practically stolen the breath from her lungs.   _ Nothing happened.  Nothing happened. Nothing happened. _

It was all a mistake.

He narrows his eyes and watches her as she moves quickly around the lab gathering the supplies that she needs.  “If ye say so.”

Her jaw clenches at the newly familiar turn of phrase as she places a test strip under her microscope and lines her eye to the lens, bringing the sample into focus. “I should be able to see if there are human antigens on the surface of your blood cells,” she says attempting to change the subject.  “That will tell us if you’re human or--”

“Not?”

“Right.”  Her gloved hand turns the lens once more and when she’s certain of her results, she releases the breath that she’d been holding and looks back at Fitz.  “Spartoi antigens have a beta-k protein marker.  It’s distinct and it would show up in any blood test.  Regardless if the subject is half-Spartoi or full.”

“And my blood?”  He prompts.

She allows herself to force a smile upon her face.  “Your blood does  _ not _ have the beta-k protein marker.  You are most certainly human.”

His arms envelop her before she can stop him and he’s thanking her over and over again, his breath tickling at her neck.  She can feel the relief flooding his body and it hits her for the hundredth time how damaging her deception really is.  

How damaging it will be to someone that thinks of her as a friend.

…

Her hands shake when she drops the thick folder onto Agent Weaver’s desk.  “I want a transfer.”

The older agent looks up and furrows her brows. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not doing this anymore.”  She points to the folder.  “That’s everything I have on him.”

She eyes Jemma suspiciously and picks up the folder in her hands and begins to flip through the papers.  “Everything?”

Jemma nods, her heart racing. “Everything.”

“But these weren’t in the reports you were sending electronically.  The last I’d heard, things were status quo.”  She holds up a stapled package.  “Dr. Simmons, explain yourself.”  

She thinks she should probably be sitting as her legs are starting to quake beneath her.  She eyes the chair across from Weaver but decides that it’s best if she remains standing.   _ Easier to make a quick exit. _

She shrugs, finally finding her voice. “I just don’t think I’m right for this assignment.   I believe that the subject has become too attached.”  Jemma cringes at the robotic way she’s purposefully chosen to identify Fitz.  

“I disagree.”  A booming, deep voice startles Jemma and she turns to find the imposing Nick Fury behind her, stepping out from a darkened corner.  

Agent Weaver stands as Jemma looks on in stunned silence.  “Director Fury, please have a seat.”  She motions toward the empty chair.

Fury waves in dismissal.  “Thank you, but no.  You know I can’t stay long.”  He turns toward Jemma and she can’t help herself when she takes a step backward, intimidated. It’s as though the furrow of his brows menacingly enhance the scar above his patched eye.   “I understand that you administered a blood test on Dr. Fitz.”

“S--sorry?”  Her heart leaps into her throat.  She’d never reported the blood test, as far as she was concerned only herself and Fitz even knew that it had taken place.

He tilts his head and his eyebrows raise in disbelief.  “Don’t play games with me Dr. Simmons.  I know everything that happens under my roof.  Our mutual friend is not Spartoi.  You think this is news to me?  Hiding it from any of us would be pointless.”

Her mouth opens and closes with shock as her nails dig deeper into the palms of her hands.  She wills herself steady as nervousness wracks her wholly.  

“Spit it out, Dr. Simmons.”

She swallows.  “How do I know that all of this… that I’m...That it’s  _ right _ ?”

Fury’s eye darts toward Weaver and Jemma notices that the senior agent’s features noticeably relax.  She sits back down in her chair and folds her hands before her, bemused.  

“Dr. Simmons,” Fury begins, his words slow and methodical. “If you can’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D, then who can you trust?  Most of all you should trust me and trust those that I trust.”  He looks toward Weaver and then back at Jemma.  

She has no response to his statement and her eyes fall, focusing on a spot on the floor.  “I’d still prefer a transfer, sir.”

“Is this about the Infinity Stone?  Did that Fitz boy do something foolish again?  Seriously, I--”

“You know about the Infinity Stone?”

Again, he raises his eyebrows and looks at her like her question is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.  “Yes of course.”  He shakes his head and turns to Weaver.  “You told her about the backup plans that I have for my backup plans, right?”

Weaver nods and smiles tightly, placing a stack of papers into a folder.  

“And you still want to be transferred? Why?”

Jemma doesn’t immediately answer.  Instead, she surveys the space in which she stands.  It lacks personal details; there are no photographs of Weaver’s family, no indication that she has a life outside of the Academy.  There is simply a single diploma from S.H.I.E.L.D decorating the wall.  She wonders briefly if the austerity of the office is a byproduct of the woman’s life at S.H.I.E.L.D or a personal choice.   She can’t help but blanche slightly at the thought that she could find herself in a similarly lonely position somewhere else.  

“I’m not sure that there’s more that I can offer in terms of tracking him,” she says at last.  “He is of little use to S.W.O.R.D.   He is just human.”  She can’t meet either of the senior officers’ faces.  

_ Nothing happened… _

“And what about the Infinity Stone that he has in his possession?”  Fury tucks his hands in his pocket.  It becomes increasingly obvious to Jemma that every emotion which crosses his face is measured and specifically chosen.

“He would relinquish it if requested by S.H.I.E.L.D.”  

Weaver folds her hands before her and leans forward.  “Did he ever allow you to use it?”

Her stomach turns at the question and she allows a long silence to fill the air before she answers.  She doesn’t want to lie, but there’s a part of her that forces the words upon her lips.  “No.  He did not.”

Weaver nods slowly and Jemma is unsure if the woman believes her; she’s fairly certain that Fury doesn’t.  If either is unconvinced, neither addresses it.

Fury glances to Weaver whose head jerks slightly in affirmation.  “There is a position available for you but it’s all I can offer.  I have nothing else,” Fury says stiffly.

She nods. “I’ll take it.”

…

While Fitz hadn’t seen Jemma since his blood test in their lab a few days earlier, he’d just assumed that she had been ill.  While he’d found her lack of replies to his texts and emails unusual, he’d thought nothing further of it.  He’d even gone as far as to dutifully file their latest lab report with both their names on the cover page in part as a thank you.

When Katie Cooper bounds into the seat next to him, haphazardly moving his bag from the chair to the floor, he grumbles under his breath.  He hates it when people touch his stuff without his permission.   “I was saving that chair--”

“--I was wondering if you wanted to be lab partners,” she interrupts, a smile wide upon her lips.  “You know since Simmons is gone.”

“I have a lab par-- wait, what?” He asks, shifting in his chair to face her.  “She’s not gone.  She’s sick!”

“Is that what she told you?”  Katie shrugs.  “She had a bunch of boxes outside of her room, like two days ago.  Her room’s all empty now.  Rumour is that she’s been transferred to SciOps.”  

All sound becomes muted as he races from the lecture hall, desperate to prove Katie a liar, desperate to discover that his  _ friend _ hadn’t left without telling him.  He can feel the eyes of the other students watching him as he barrels across campus, his mind racing with innumerable excuses that explain her absence.  When he arrives at the security for the girls’ residence hall, he scribbles Jemma’s room number onto the sign in sheet.   He barely registers the guard calling after him as he barrels down the hall and up the stairs.

When he finally gets to her room, breathless and sweat beading on his forehead, there’s no denying Katie’s revelation any longer.  The door to Jemma’s room is wide open and he is face to face with its sterile emptiness  A sign propped on a hook next to the room number gives him the confirmation he hadn’t wanted to find.

_ Vacant. Apply with floor don for room transfer. _

“Fitz--”

He turns and finds the very person he was looking for mere feet from him. Fitz’s fists clench at his sides as his brain registers what is before him.  Jemma’s hands are clasped in front of her, her knuckles white.  Upon her finger he sees the Infinity Ring.  

“You’re from the future, aren’t you?”  He asks angrily.  

She nods and steps toward him, reaching for him.  

“No!”  He raises his hand to stop her from coming any closer and backs away.  “I don’t want to hear the excuses you’re going to try and feed me. Did you steal the ring too? After I told you everything, after I  _ trusted you _ .”  His voice grows shakier with every word.  “You left me here. Alone.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but he’s down the stairs before she can even utter a single word.


	9. We Don't Need to be Ordinary

Jemma first notices him from the corner of her eye standing against a tree, reading a newspaper.  She tucks her head into her chest and does her best to avoid him.  The second time he’s leaning against a wall, biting at a fingernail.  She thinks he must be from the future as his hair is a bit shorter and his clothes are a little more pressed.  He waves at her as she passes and she can see the familiar crinkles at the corners of his eyes.  She hates that something so banal makes her heart skip.

Even though she doesn’t stop, his smile doesn’t falter.  A part of her wonders if he’s watching her to make sure that she’s okay and she can’t help but hope that maybe it means that Fitz will one day forgive her.  She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel guilty for not saying goodbye or at the very least explain her hasty exit.  She just couldn’t stay at the Academy.  Everything had become too overwhelming, _too involved._

There’s a frustrated side of her that resents his future incarnation continuing to shoehorn his way into her life.  It’s as if he’s forcing her onto the path that she’s trying desperately to steer away from.

Besides, she has a boyfriend. A nice, smart, non-time travelling boyfriend.  

She’d met Milton at the SciOps library.  He’d seen her reviewing the European Journal of Human Genetics and asked if she could recommend a study on the ecdysis of Curtis Connors.  When she’d told him about Dr. Morse’s dissertation that was catalogued in the biological studies building, he’d offered to buy her dinner as a thank you.  That was several months ago and she'd been seeing him steadily ever since.

Jemma is waiting for Milton when Fitz finally decides to break the distance between them.  He’s cautious when he approaches her and it’s a marked difference from the first time she’d encountered him when she’d jumped to the future. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and his tie is a little askew.  He makes no attempt to reach for her and instead takes a seat next to her on the park bench.

“I have a boyfriend now, you know.”   It wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined starting with and she scrunches her nose at the words that blurt from her mouth.  He motions toward the bag of pretzels in her hand and she rolls her eyes, tilting it toward him.

“I know,” he says thoughtfully.  There’s a slight pause before he adds, “But how’s he at snoggin’?”  He pops a pretzel into his mouth and raises his eyebrows, his eyes flashing mischievously.  “Is he as good as I am?”

She glares at him and crosses her arms at her chest.  “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

He bobbles his head as though considering her declaration and puts another pretzel into his mouth.  “You tell me that every day.  So, yeah.  I do.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk with food--”

“-- in my mouth, yeah, yeah,” he finishes laughingly.  “You don’t change much in ten years, ye know tha’?” He fishes out another pretzel.

Jemma chooses to ignore his comment and passes him the remainder of the bag.  “Why are you here anyway?”

After quickly devouring what’s left in the bag, he crumples the plastic in his fist.  “I need you to get me into the cadaver lab.”

“What? No. Why?”

He sighs softly.  His hands twist in his lap as he plays with the balled up plastic.  “Tomorrow you’re going to get a call asking all medical officers to report to the cadaver labs. I need you to claim one in particular and give me access to your lab.”

Her chest tightens at the request.  “But I can’t. You need an identification badge; there are procedures, protocols...”

Fitz shifts and props his elbow on the back of the bench, his eyes not quite meeting hers. It’s as though he’s lost in thought when his fingers loosely fidget with the collar of her shirt.  “Let me worry about the identification badge.  I know someone that can take care of that.”  The knuckle of his index finger gently taps at her shoulder.  “Just make sure that you claim 8A99G’s examination room.”

“Why? What’s 8A99G?”

He chuckles lightly.  “Ye ask a lot of questions, you know that ri’?”

Jemma shakes her head. She can’t help the smile that finds its way to her lips.  “Fitz…”

He holds up his hand.  “Until tomorrow, then?” Fitz doesn’t wait for her confirmation and turns at the ring, disappearing right before her.   

She exhales deeply and curses the sudden, heavy staccato beat of her heart against her chest.

…

It is her mobile that wakes her from a shallow, fraught and dreamless sleep.  She sits up in bed and rubs her eyes; the clock on her nightstand reads a blurry 4:13AM.  She runs a hand through her tangled hair and reaches for her cell that sits on her nightstand.  

“Hello?”  She says, her voice cracking slightly.

“Dr. Simmons?”

“Yes?”

“All medical personnel are asked to report to the cadaver labs immediately.  Protocol 531 has been put into effect.”

She closes her eyes and presses the ball of her hand against her eyelid, desperate to recall what Protocol 531 is.   _There are so many and it’s so early_.  She thinks perhaps she should’ve been better prepared for the phone call; she just hadn’t expected it to arrive before dawn.

“It’s a level four GCE.”

She sits bolt upright in bed, stunned into silence. It’s as though all the air has left the room.  She knows what those three letters mean, everyone at SciOps is expected to understand what they mean.  They are trained to prepare for GCEs, they run scenarios in anticipation of one.

She’s quickly pulling her sweater over her pyjama top as the words roll over and over in her mind. _Galactic Catastrophic Event._ At a level four hazard, it’s the second highest response indicator.  All medical personnel must report for casualty identification and biological containment.  It’s not until she’s breathless from running across campus that she realizes why Fitz had wanted her to the claim the cadaver lab for 8A99G and why he would be so invested in a GCE of his past.

…

There’s sleep still in her eyes, but none of that matters when she swipes her card against lab room 8 and claims 8A99G.  At the center of the room lies a body bag on a sterile metal gurney.  Her heart clenches in her chest when she thinks about what she suspects lies within it.

The door to the lab slides open and Fitz slips into the room behind her.  His hair is a little mussed and he hasn’t shaved.  She barely registers the fake identification badge hanging from his breast pocket, she’s only wondering if he’s fully aware of what has happened.

_Of course he is._

The back of Fitz’s hand presses against his mouth and nose, the smell of formaldehyde clearly overwhelming his senses. “What did they tell you?” He asks, his words muffled.

“There was a GCE,” she says carefully as she slips her latex gloves on.  She points to the file on the counter behind her before launching into her summation.  “Quadrant 11-4889274 experienced an invasion by the Kree.”  She measures her choice in words, unable to fully meet his eyes. Her hands rest on the corners of the gurney, unwilling to open the bag until they are both ready for what might lay inside it.  “They’d suspected the Spartoi were harbouring Xandarians among them and attacked at full force.  The ranks were called up to defend.”

Fitz nods, remaining silent.  She’s certain he must know the details already and worries that perhaps this exchange is simply a way to torture himself anew.

“Upon the successful defence of Spartax and the terms of the Peace Treaty, the Galactic Council decided that all the de--” she hesitates.  Dead is too detached, too uniform.  A blanket term, really.  She suspects the body before her is more likely a hero, a defender of the galaxy.  A person who risked his life to save others.  “-- That all the _victims_ of this crime be return to their respective planets for autopsy and burial or cremation.  SciOps received the Terrans.”

When she dares to meet his eyes, she sees that they are pooling with tears, his teeth chew at his bottom lip nervously and his hands are fisted at his sides. “8A99G is your father isn’t it?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nods and bats at a tear that manages to escape down his cheek.  His jaw clenches and he stays silent, the usual banter they share muted.

She swallows the lump in her throat.  She feels useless, unsure of what Fitz expects of her.  But he nods again and she thinks it’s the permission she needs.  With slow precision, she gently and cautiously unzips the bag.  The smell is immediate and overwhelming. Fitz’s hand presses against his mouth again and when she looks up at him, he nods once more, encouraging her to continue.  

The greyish body that lies within the once sealed bag is definitely Fitz’s father.  The eyes are wide and while cloudy, they are the distinct blue of a Fitz.  His white blonde hair is matted by dirt, a byproduct she assumes of war.

“Can I--” he starts, breaking the silence.

She nods and drops her hands from the body.  “I’ll wait outside.” Jemma quickly disposes of her gloves in the hazards bin by the door and exits into the hall.

When the door slides closed behind her, she chances a glance through the small window into the room. Fitz has pulled a stool next to the gurney.  His shoulders are hunched and his upper arms lean against the frame; his fingers comb through his father’s hair.  His lips are moving and she wonders if his words are words of prayer or ones that call out to a father he must surely desperately miss.  She pulls away from the window allowing him the privacy he deserves.

Eventually he exits the room, his face tear stained and exhausted. “I’m so sorry, Fitz.”  She knows her words are a small comfort and she reaches for him, enveloping him in her arms.  She breathes in his smell, a bit of copper mixed with cologne and the feel of him surrounding her, comforts her.  She wonders if it’s the same for him.

“This is the last time I’m going to be able to jump,” he says into her hair.  “They need the ring.”

She nods against his shoulder.  She doesn’t question who _they_ are, she’s not sure she even cares.   What she knows is that she _will_ miss him.

Something shifts between them and upon later reflection she’s unsure what even comes over her.  Her hands run up his shoulders and to his face and she holds him still between her hands.  Fitz’s tongue darts out quickly, wetting his lips and she understands it as an unspoken request and she nods her consent in return.  When his lips press against hers, they are salty from his tears but she doesn’t care and his hands pull her closer as she kisses him in return.  Admittedly, she yearns for him and is greedy for his touch, but he’s gentle and slow, cognizant of years that she can’t even imagine.

As they part, he’s the first to speak.  “You need to be the one to tell me.”

Jemma pulls away and looks up at him, confused.  

“You have to tell me about all this,” he clarifies, motioning toward the room.  “It has to come from you.”

“No!” She protests. “Why?”  

He tilts his head.  “You know why, Jems.”

She shakes her head, her hands at her hips.  “I can’t.  I won’t.  You-- _He_ won’t speak to me. I’m sure of it.”

Fitz’s fingers press at his temples.  “Listen to me, you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.  We’ve been working on it.   _Helping_ you.”

“We?”  He gives her a look and it answers her question.   _The future version of herself._  “Right.”  Her face blazes and she crosses her arms, abashed.  “What about-- I mean… _never mind_.”

He raises his eyebrows, questioning.  “Do you mean the stuff with S.W.O.R.D and Fury?”

Jemma rights herself, her mouth agape.  “You know?!”

Fitz laughs but doesn’t confirm or deny her declaration.  “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying all along?”

She rolls her eyes and narrows the gap between them.  “I want to be able to make my own choices. Choose my own path.  S’why I quit.”

“I know, love.  I do and you still can.  But you shouldn’t have quit.”

“You think I should’ve kept on?”

The crinkles at his eyes appear again.  “There are wheels in motion, Jems.  In any case what’s done is done.  But I’m asking you for this one favour.  Just tell the past me.  We--” He pauses and eyes her carefully.  “ _I_ need it.”  

Jemma fidgets with a button on her lab coat.  “I’m busy; they have me running labs here.  And Milton--”  Her lie sounds hollow to even her own ears.  

Fitz smiles.  “So you’ll do it?”

She winces. “Fine,” she agrees through clenched teeth.

His arms envelop her and his lips press against the side of her head and she feels him drop his identification badge into the pocket of her lab coat.  “You’re tha’ best!”  Before she can respond in turn he’s vanished.  

...

Her fingers fly across the flat panel keyboard as she logs into the S.H.I.E.L.D directory.  Jemma is thankful for her recently acquired higher level access as it allows her to log into the Academy database and locate Fitz without raising suspicion.  Prior to SciOps she never would have had the permissions.

The processing bar fills slowly across the screen and she frowns;  normally the program is much quicker.  She types in a few more commands and refreshes the screen.  Upon her second attempt, the program opens at last and prompts her to verify her credentials.  Brows furrowed in confusion she says her name out loud, enabling the voice recognition software.

“Welcome Doctor Simmons,” a robotic voice greets. “Whom shall I locate for you?”

She types in Fitz’s name and waits as the process bar returns.   When the screen suddenly turns crimson and flashes in alarm, she’s stunned by what appears before her. 

_Leopold Fitz (known aliases: “Leo Fitz”, “Fitz”) has been detained at Academy holding. Awaiting tribunal on charges of knowingly participating in an activity that enhances the ability of a terrorist organization (namely Advanced Idea Mechanics) to facilitate its terrorist activities._


	10. Next to You

There are no bars to his cell but if the light streams through the window at a particular angle, Fitz can make out the invisible wall that keeps him trapped.  The technology is newer for S.H.I.E.L.D and he finds it vaguely ironic that he was a part of the team that had helped develop it. 

His entire wing is empty, just one cell among a hallway of cots and bookshelves.  It is rare for any Academy student to be detained, much less two, and he wonders if there’s a separate women’s wing where they are housing Katie.  He secretly hopes that S.H.I.E.L.D is ensuring her quarters are worse than his own.  

He’s admittedly thankful for the solitude; he finds the silence and loneliness refreshing even when it’s occasionally broken by a meddling trespasser.  The future incarnation of Jemma purposefully sits beside him, rambling about her latest scientific discoveries.  She mostly talks aloud to herself, in part because Fitz refuses to answer her questions or to engage. His silence never deters her and he can feel his anger and frustration bubbling below the surface with each passing minute that she sits there unconcerned by his plight; her sunny disposition an indication of her ignorance toward the punishment he faces.  

Irritated, he wonders why security hasn’t had her removed; surely there are cameras covering every square inch of the facility.  It’s become increasingly obvious that they are effectively allowing her to trespass in his cell.  

“--And you should’ve seen it, there was this force field that just magnified itself across the interstate!  It--”

“Stop! Enough!”  He cries angrily, jumping to his feet.  “Does nobody care tha’ she’s in here?”  He screams out, begging for security _ or anyone _ to hear him.  

“They won’t care,” she says interrupting his fit, her voice calm, yet tentative.

He turns to her, glaring.  “Why?  They should!”

She shrugs.  “They sent me.”

His voice barrels from deep within him.  “How d’ya mean?  Who’s  _ they _ ?”

Jemma smiles sheepishly and with a turn of the Infinity Ring she disappears.

Fitz curls his hand into a fist and brings it in contact with the electric wall; the current from the strike startles him to the core.  He can feel the shock into his fingertips and he winces through clenched teeth as sirens sound in the distance.  He backs away from the wall and slumps onto his cot, defeated, exhausted and miserable, his head in his hands.

An imposing figure in a black S.H.I.E.L.D uniform lumbers down the hall toward him.  The approaching shadow casts a darkness over the invisible cell wall and Fitz can make out the sheen of electricity.  As the thunderous footsteps grow closer, he can’t help but calculate the modifications to the oxidation levels.  He wonders absently if there’s a chemist at S.H.I.E.L.D that would be able to properly mix the correct compound needed to correct the error.   

“What’s your problem kid?” The guard growls, smacking a baton into the air.  A spark flies sideways indicating contact with the electrical wall.  “You lookin’ to get yourself killed?”

Fitz doesn’t reply and allows his eyes to fall to the floor, choosing to remain silent.  The guard tsks and shakes his head before he leans down and hooks his key into the lock tower that sits at the exterior corner of the invisible cell.  

“What are ye doin’?” Fitz asks, scrambling to his feet.  He thinks it can only mean that it’s time for his tribunal, that they’re ready to make a decision as to his fate.  He hadn’t realized it would be so soon, he’d thought he had at least another week.  

There’s a strange silence when the almost inaudible buzz dissipates and the guard reaches for him.  His large hand practically envelops Fitz’s arm, forcing Fitz to walk alongside him. “Someone here to see ya.”

The guard’s steps are quick and Fitz has to practically jog to keep up. 

“Who is it?”  He asks, panting.  Confusion and panic mixed in his features.  “My mum?”

The guard smiles tightly but says nothing, dragging him toward a marked doorway where he’s   pushed inside.  The grey-black walls make the room feel dark and the titles that decorate it make it seem like square pillows are covering every inch.  He wonders vaguely if they’re meant to cushion blows from angry interactions.  At the center of the room is a single table with a bar attached to its surface.   When the guard closes the door behind him he’s surprised they decided against handcuffing him to it. He figures he must not be considered a dangerous or physical threat.

“Are you insane?”  The voice startles him from his reverie and he turns to find Jemma purposefully marching toward the center of the room. “Godkiller Armor? Really?”

He frowns and takes her in fully.  Her hair is a little mussed and darker than before and it dawns on him that this is the Jemma from the present, the one who’d left him months earlier.

“What do you want?” Fitz asks, making little attempt to hide his disdain.

She places a legal sized brown envelop onto the table.  “I’m here to collect you.”  She points to the envelop.  “Your things.  I’m told that your other belongings are going to be shipped to SciOps in a few days.”

Fitz pulls a chair out from under the table and takes a seat.  He crosses his arms against his chest and glares at her.  “I’m not breaking out.”

Jemma puffs her cheeks and lets out a short chuckle.  “I’m not here to break you out.  You’ve been released.”

“How’dya mean?”  He stares at her, incredulous.

She takes the seat across from him and he can tell by the way she avoids making eye contact that she’s considering exactly what to say.

“It’s a long story.”  Her eyes meet his at last.  “Complicated, really.”

“Well apparently we have all the time in the world,” he says motioning toward the walls of the room they sit enclosed within.

She bites at her lip, the earlier confidence she’d had now gone.  “We don’t really.”  She shakes her head.  “They’re releasing you into my custody.”

He frowns.  “What? Why? No.  Absolutely no’.”

“If you refuse they’ll go ahead with the tribunal,” she says simply.  “You can’t win against S.H.I.E.L.D. you know that. You helped Katie build a weapon of destruction--”

“-- I did it to  _ expose  _ her.  Now they know her true allegiances.”

Jemma sighs.  “I know.   _ I _ believe you.  And so does S.H.I.E.L.D.  But the evidence is stacked against you. You helped her and no matter your intentions they will mean very little at a tribunal.” She shrugs.  “You can’t prove any of it.”

He purses his lips and glares at her. “I don’ need your advice.”

“I know.”  She eyes the envelope that lays between them and impulsively reaches for it, upending it, sending its contents to the table.  Among a set of keys, a few dollars and some coins, tumbles out a black silk bag.  The Infinity Ring.

“You  _ can _ trust me, you know.”  She raises her eyes to meet his. “Even after everything.  You can trust me and know that S.H.I.E.L.D seems to as well.”

“What gives you the idea that I’d leave with you now?  You left me once, I’m sure you’d do it again.  Besides, maybe I like it here.”  His hands gesture wildly.  “Maybe I want them to charge me with all their crimes and send me to Crossmore.”

“I had to leave, you know,” she says at last. He watches her carefully, studying her.  “It was getting… complicated.”

“D’you think it’s not complicated for me?”  He spits out, leaning forward.  “I’ve been to the future too, ye know.  There are some things I’m not too keen on happening either.”  She nods slowly in response, drawing in every word.  He hopes that she feels foolish for not considering that he may be similarly anxious about…  _ everything _ .  “Why you?  Why ask you of all the people in S.H.I.E.L.D?”

“I suspect they think we’re a good team.  We were friends once.”  Her eyes fall to her fingers.  “They’ve asked me to watch you.”

He narrows his eyes. “What do you mean  _ watch me _ ?”

Jemma’s voice is quiet and uncertain, her words hitching in her throat.  “They want me to watch and report.  Make sure that... that the A.I.M. stuff doesn’t happen again.  Make sure that--”  She purses her lips and her eyes still study every mark upon the skin of her hands.  “To make sure that you’re okay. They want to know that you’re safe.  Happy, I suppose.”

“Who’s  _ they _ ?”  It feels as though she’s speaking in riddles and it’s not unlike the version of herself that’s been haunting him ever since her abrupt exit months earlier.

She shakes her head and looks up, meeting his gaze. “I’m not allowed to tell you.  Not yet anyway.  It was a condition of your release.  A condition of allowing me to--”

“That’s bollocks and you know it.”  Fitz slumps back against his chair.  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Her face falls and she leans forward, swallowing hard and readying herself.  “You have to, it’s not the only reason they’re releasing you.”

The words tumble from her mouth, fraught and worried.  She expects him to burst with emotion, to react in some way.  Any way.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he sits and stares at her as though evaluating what she’s revealed to him.  “I’m so sorry, Fitz.  He was a good man.”

A moment of time passes wherein Fitz studies her, silent and measuring and when it passes his hands reach for his belonging spread across the metal table.  He pockets each item methodically, tucking the black silk bag into the pocket at his chest.  With his lips a thin line, he breaks his silence with whispered words.  “Don’t pretend you know anythin’ about him.”  He stands and moves for the door, his fist banging heavily against it, calling for the guards to release the lock.  “Ri’,” he says calmly turning toward her.  “Let’s go then.”     

...

“Here,” Jemma says handing him the forged passcard. “You’ll need to wear this in case anyone sees us.  People without clearance aren’t meant to be in the medical building.”

“You mean people who have questionable criminal pasts?”  He asks with a tight smile.

She shakes her head.  “You don’t have a criminal past.  Not anymore anyway.  Weaver just needs to send over the paperwork, but that could take weeks--”

“-- and we don’t have weeks.” She nods.  He fingers the passcard, eyeing it suspiciously.  “This is a pretty good forgery.  How’d ye get it?  I don’t remember posing for this photo.”

She smiles faintly and shrugs.  “You gave it to me.”

“Oh,” he says, understanding.  “Of course.  You were stalked as well, I reckon.”

She nods, her face grows serious as they round the corner.  “This is the room,” she says swiping her passcard against the security lock and it clicks open, a green light flashes allowing them entrance.  She turns the handle and opens the door to the morgue.  

“He’s in cabin two.”  Jemma motions to the wall of square doors, each marked with a number.  Fitz walks hesitantly toward the wall and Jemma does the only thing she knows how to do in uncomfortable situations: she relies on her science. “The autopsy revealed that the impact of the blast crushed his ribs and sternum, it sent bone fragments into the heart.  I’m sure he didn’t feel a thi--”

“Can you just… can you just give me a minute,” he asks softly, interrupting.  She nods, silenced and turns to leave the room.  “No, stay,” he adds quickly.  “I just… need a minute.  It’ll only take a minute.”

“Okay,” she agrees gently, tucking herself against the wall to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Fitz’s hand grips the handle of the door, his knuckles white and fingers tense.  He lifts and pulls the handle, opening it gingerly.  She sees his chest rise heavily as though he’s bracing himself for what is to come and he reaches for the tracked stretcher inside the body cabin and pulls it outward.  A white cloth covers the length of the body and Fitz takes a deep breath before he folds back the sheet.

She can’t bare to watch and she turns her gaze downward where she studies a small spot embedded in the marbled floor.  She hears him softly sniffle and with a shuddered breath, he asks,  “Do you think he can hear us?”  

Jemma looks up and shrugs her shoulders.  “I’m not sure.  I suppose it depends on whether you believe there’s an afterlife or not.”

He nods slightly and pulls the sheet back up, covering his father’s face.  With a shake of his head, he carefully replaces the stretcher into its cabin and closes the door.  The latch clicks into place and he releases his fingers, letting his arm fall to his side.  Jemma steps forward, practiced words of sympathy ready upon her lips, but she is instantly silenced when something in Fitz’s expression changes.  His light eyes flash dark and he reaches for the door to the body cabin and opens it with shocking force.  

She sucks in a surprised breath as he slams the door closed, forcing it heavily against the latch.  The ferocity of his action shudders the other doors.  Over and over he jerks his arm backward and forward, his strangled cries echoing against every surface of the room.  

“You-- left-- us,” he screams, his words spoken in rapid staccato matching each blow of the door against the latch.  “For what?! For this?”  Tears stream against his face, his voice distorted by grief.  “Everything was a secret with you, wasn’t it?”

Jemma’s hands grab his shoulders, rooting him with all her strength.  His arms drop to his sides and his shoulders slump forward, the door flapping limply open.  She reaches past him and secures it.  Fitz turns to face her and she can see the strain upon every feature.   

She’s not sure who moves first, but suddenly she finds him in her arms sobbing against her shoulder.  When her hand rubs a soothing pattern along his back, it’s then she that she understands; there are parallels which run deeper than she can even begin to imagine.

As she holds him in her arms, tears stinging her own eyes, she thinks she understands a fraction of what everyone has been fighting for.  Fury, Weaver and their future selves…


	11. Epilogue: With You

Agent Weaver rises from her seat and replaces a file into her cabinet and turns to the screen that hovers next to her desk.  “You’re sure about this?  You have a lot of faith in two people who are barely out of their teens.”

Director Fury flashes his teeth and she thinks that even his smiles seem slightly menacing. “There’s a saying that if you’re loved by someone it gives you strength, but if you love someone it gives you courage.”

She jerks her head to the side and frowns. “I never figured you were the romantic type.”

“I’m not,” he shakes his head.  “Blame Coulson; he’s dating again.  But my point stands."

“Why do you care about these kids in particular?  Why so much effort?”  She crosses her arms at her waist and leans against her desk.  “It’s an awful lot of trouble to go through.”

He chuckles.  “I hope you didn’t think that those entry exams and psych assessments were just to place them in the Academy.”

She smiles. “Of course not.  But really, of all the students we have here...  Certainly they’re bright but--”

“Let’s just say it’s in my-- and your-- best interest that those two stay together.  You know me and my back up plans--”

“-- to your back up plans,” she finishes rolling her eyes, a grin upon her lips.  “Right. Always Mister Mysterious. One last question then?”

He nods. “Sure.”

“Did you still want me to track Dr. Simmons.  I mean, considering that she’s at SciOps now. Did you have someone there you’d prefer instead?”

Fury shakes his head.  “No. Keep up with what you’ve been doing. She trusts you.”

“And you still want her to monitor Leo Fitz?”

“Yes. I think so.  He has the ring, it’s safe with him for now.  Brand’s latest intel suggests that there’s movement in the Quadrants that we’ll need to keep an eye out for.  Besides, she promised his father that we’d keep his kid and Simmons safe.  It’s the least we can do.”

…

For both, their first year as partners at SciOps is challenging.  They tend to fight more times than either can bother to count and Jemma wonders what she’s again gotten herself into.  She will admit, however, that they are quite a team.  Smart individually, but certainly  _ smarter _ together.   

Sometime in that year Milton is transferred to the Sandbox as a supervising agent.  They try to sustain their relationship through video conferencing and text messages, but it’s of no use.  The distance is too great and his heightened security clearance eliminates any discussion of his experiences.  If she’s being honest, he’s beginning to bore her and she finds it a chore listening to him prattle on about golf in the Chihuahuan Desert.  

Their eventual breakup is uneventful and she can’t help but wonder if she should feel more heartbreak over it all.  When she says as much to Fitz in a valiant attempt at fostering their friendship, he tells her she’s better off without him and that he was holding her back.  She’s horrified by his candor and decides to give him the silent treatment until a week later when he sheepishly apologizes.

…

There are moments in their third year that make Jemma believe that maybe they really are friends.  Certainly, they are undoubtedly the best biochemist and weapons engineer at SciOps and they are duly awarded for their achievements.  Their respective scientific communities and S.H.I.E.L.D honour their accomplishments, endowing them each with numerous grants and bursaries.  

It’s after one particular awards ceremony where, in their formal wear, they decide to splurge and spend some of their earnings on import beer at the hotel bar.  At some point in the early hours of the morning, Jemma loses count of how many glasses she’s consumed.  She’d promised herself only two, but there was a lot to celebrate.  She suspects she must be several glasses in as Fitz is infinitely more tolerable.

She’s in the middle of telling him a rather terrible joke involving carbon dating when he interrupts and challenges her to a game of truth or dare.  

When she looks up at him and meets his eyes, she notes that his mouth is pulled into a wicked smile.  She narrows her eyes and with laughter upon her own lips, accepts; she knows she could never fulfill a dare even while drunk and so she instead chooses truth.   

“Was Milton your first kiss?” Fitz asks, red faced and likely tipsier than he’d ever admit.

She shakes her head and brings her drink to her mouth.

He looks at her, puzzled.  “Who was then?”

“You.”

Her admittance hangs thickly in the air between them.  For a moment Fitz is unsure of what she means.  His eyebrows furrow, considering her reply; he has an eidetic memory and is fairly certain he would’ve remembered such a moment.  As suddenly as her response came, the truth hits him, temporarily sobering him.

“Oh.”

“What about you?” She asks in an attempt to alleviate the awkwardness between them.  Jemma had always figured that he’d never kissed anyone, ever.  She couldn’t imagine any girl would bother with his moodiness and penchant for arguments over Faraday’s law of induction.  He could be  _ such a pill _ .

“You, as well.”

“Oh,” she says, realization dawning on her.  

The game comes to an abrupt end and they’re both quick to pay their respective tabs, their fingers fumbling for the correct change and bills.  The next morning, in the fog of alcohol consumption, each feigns ignorance to the events of the previous night.  Neither broaches the subject and upon their return to SciOps they transition almost fluidly into their roles within the lab, their next scientific objective at the front of their minds.  

Neither dares to admit the twist that they feel in their chests at the very memory of their respective experiences.  Both, to no avail, attempt to channel their separate-- yet similar-- desires for  _ any other future. _

…

In their fifth year Fitz receives a letter inviting him to the opening of a memorial honouring the fallen heroes of the Kree attack on Spartax. He almost immediately crumples the letter into a ball and tosses it in the trash.  

Jemma has been trying to be more ecologically friendly and when she attempts to separate the trash from recyclables, she stumbles upon his letter.  She encourages him to attend, says that it’s a great honour, but he’s unyielding; he will not honour a man that abandoned his family.  

His reaction confuses her as she’d understood his familial history differently, but she abides by his request and doesn’t mention it again.  

On the day of the opening, Jemma leaves a note for Fitz explaining her absence and heads to the staff cafeteria to watch the services.  At some point during the reciting of Terran names, she feels him take a seat next to her.  Throughout he says nothing, but she can feel his body tense the closer the speaker gets to the letter F.   When Andrew Fitz’s name is finally called, she reaches for his hand and weaves her fingers into his, silently comforting him as she’d done so many years ago.

When his hand squeezes hers in return, it’s as if something shifts between them.  

Later, when Jemma walks Fitz home, he’s the first to break their comfortable silence when he asks with trepidation, “Are we friends?”

She nods and replies honestly and without hesitation.  “Yes.  I think so.”

“Really?”  

He is disbelieving and she can see it written across his face. She smiles.  “Nothing is too wonderful to be true--”

“--if it be consistent with the laws of nature,” he finishes, laughter upon his exhausted face.  “Michael Faraday?”

Her grin widens.  “Quite fitting, I think.  In light of… well, everything.”

Fitz pauses, considering her words.  At long last he nods.  “Thank you for… staying with me.  I mean, this afternoon.”  His hand rubs at the back of his neck nervously.  “And before.”

Jemma’s smile softens and she leans up and presses her lips to his cheek.  “It’s the very the least I could do.”  

He blushes.  “Just the same--”

She pats his arm with her hand, reassuring him.  “Good night, Fitz.”

“‘Night Jemma.”  

It’s not until Jemma arrives at her own home that it dawns on her: it’s the first time since the night she’d time travelled that she’s heard him use her proper name.  A renewed smile creeps upon her lips; they really  _ are _ friends.

_ At last. _

…

Anne Weaver knew it was only a matter of time before the Academy would fall.  With the collapse of Triskelion and the death of Director Fury, she figured the place she’d called home would be next.  She can hear the gunfire in the distance as she hurriedly tells Jemma Simmons to trust no one, that anyone among them could be Hydra.  When the door to her office flies open, she practically jumps from her skin as her security detail thunders in and bolts the door behind them. 

“What’s happening?” She asks as calmly as she can muster.

The guards turn away from her, their guns drawn and pointed toward the door.  “It’s every man for himself.  We have standing orders from Director Fury to move you to Bunker 17 should it come to this.  Directive 66-A.  Whenever you’re ready ma’am.”

She stifles a gasp.  She recognizes the directive, it was one she figured she’d never have the occasion to hear ordered.  She’d worried this moment would come; they really were at war.   

Weaver turns and with deft strength, she pulls the filing cabinet away from the wall, exposing a hidden safe.  She presses her hand against the security scanner, allowing it to register her DNA signature.  Time seems to pass painfully slow and she can hear the dim sound of panicked screams from beyond her steel encased, bulletproof door.  When the latch finally releases she opens the door and grabs a stack of files, tucking them against her chest.  

“I need to get to the incinerators,” she says.  “Then we’ll take care of Directive 66-A.”

The guard nods and turns to the men that flank him, signalling the count.  When they open the door, Weaver ensures that she follows tightly behind them as they escort her to the lowest levels of the Academy building.

They creep methodically toward the basement, every corner taken with caution, every door opened as though the enemy lurks behind it.  The gunfire seems to have subsided and Weaver wonders if the infiltrators have moved on to the Tech labs in the building next door.

“All clear,” the guard calls as he waves them in over the threshold and into the incinerator room.  Weaver moves quickly, her hand pushing up the lever that ignites the gas.  She begins to toss the files one by one into the large canister, watching carefully as the flames swallow each wholly.  The last two files in her hands-- the ones belonging to Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz-- are tossed in simultaneously.  Their names curl under the heat and crackle to ash; the last of the evidence proving the existence of Project Watchdog incinerated before her very eyes.  

She closes the hatch and turns to face the guards. “Are we ready then?”

They don’t respond, instead they raise their guns and take aim.  When she looks down, she sees the red laser dots marking her chest.  She takes a deep breath and nods, authorizing her final command.  

…

They’re in their eighth year as partners when Jemma is approached by the previously-thought-dead Agent Coulson.  She’s so stunned by his offer that she forgets to mention her responsibilities to Project Watchdog.  She doesn’t have to though, because Coulson tells her that the offer has been approved by the highest levels and that she and Fitz were specially requested.  

She knows they can’t refuse.  She thinks it might be the highest honour they’ll ever receive, but they are a team and they should accept the offer as one.  

Fitz begrudgingly agrees.  He has a bad feeling about the entire mission, but he sees the excitement written across her face and if he’s honest, he’s a bit curious about the tech on board the Globemaster.  

In their ninth month aboard the Bus, everything goes to hell and they discover that no one can be trusted; not even their closest friends.  

Fitz has been purposefully silent for days, his usual banter muted and when he and Jemma sit on the edge of a pool in the yard of a seedy motel, he asks the question that’s been weighing on his mind.

“Tell me that you’re no’ Hydra.”  His heart beats quickly against his chest.  He knows she’s working for _ someone _ and he doesn’t think he could bear it if it was Hydra.

“I’m not Hydra," she says, a faint reassuring smile upon her lips.  He releases the breath that he’d been holding and it’s all the confirmation he needs; he trusts her above all others.

Jemma knows that regardless of the secrets she guards in her heart, she trusts him more than anyone.  She’s not sure when it first happened and thinks that if she’d noticed she probably would have guarded her heart more.  But somewhere along the line she’d stopped caring about the details and had forgotten the promises she’d made to herself years ago.  She only knows one important truth: no matter what, she will do whatever she can to protect Leo Fitz.

She would even dig her fingers into the collar of his shirt and drag him to the surface of the ocean if it meant that there was a fraction of a chance that she could save him.

She suspects that somewhere along the way he became  _ more than that _ for her as well.

…

Jemma awakes with a start, the muscles in her face burning from sleeping awkwardly against Fitz’s hospital bed. As she stretches the kinks from her body she sees something out of the corner of her eye flutter to the floor.  She leans down to pick the envelope up and turns it over in her hands.  She finds her name staring back at her.  Confused and equally curious, she tears into it and pulls the letter from within.  

_ Dear Jemma Simmons, _

_ We’ve never met, as least not yet anyway.  But somehow I feel like I know you.  My name is Andrew Fitz and I am Leo’s father.  From what I’m told, you know everything about the Infinity Stone that I (and now my son) care for.  Days ago, I managed to steal it from A.I.M.  You can appreciate how dangerous it would be if they were to have it in their possession; I am certain their status as a terrorist organization remains unchanged even in your time. _

_ Unfortunately because of that, I am a wanted man.  In order to keep my family safe, I have made the decision to fake my own death and by extension, the destruction of the Infinity Stone.   In reality, my friend-- whom, I believe you know-- Abigail Brand has offered me refuge off of Earth.  I will become a member of S.W.O.R.D’s Defence and Engineering team and will hopefully be able to protect the planet I once called home.  Abigail has generously agreed to protect my son and it is the reason why in two days time I will make the decision to leave the ring with him.   _

_ You may wonder why I will entrust an 8 year old with something so powerful.  The truth is that I knew everything will be okay.  You see, Jemma Simmons, my son has been visiting me from the future for many years and I have been blessed to witness him grow up into a young man.  At first he’d used the ring to try and stop me from leaving, but then something changed.  He started to tell me about you, Jemma Simmons.  And that’s when it dawned on me; my son has fallen in love. _

_ I know my future; it is not one of happiness as I will have to give up everything for a greater cause.  But I wish more for my son.  You, Jemma Simmons, bring my son happiness.  You are that “more.”  Whether you love him in return is up to you, but it is enough for me to know that even with my inevitable death someone is there for him, protecting him and watching out for him.  Being his friend.  With you at his side he is stronger and together you have unparalleled courage to protect what is right. _

_ In gratitude, I will ask S.W.O.R.D and their friends at S.H.I.E.L.D to care after you as well.  It is the least I can do in exchange for everything you have done for my son. _

_ I write all this as someone who lives 18 years in the past, but I think that in your time this letter will bring you and Leo some answers.  I wish I could have met you properly, but you looked so peaceful sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you.  By all accounts, however, I couldn’t have met nor wished to meet anyone better. _

_ Many blessings from the past, _

_ Andrew Fitz _

When Jemma refolds the letter, she accidentally stains the ink with her tears, blurring some of the words.  They fall freely and she has to press her hands to her face in order to stem the flow.  She wants nothing more than her friend to return to her so they can face the world  _ together _ again.

She reaches for his hand and holds it within her own, vowing to make their ninth year infinitely better.

It takes days, but Fitz does eventually awaken from his coma and the first thing he sees is Jemma’s relieved smile and the first thing he feels is her strong arms pulling him against her.  It’s familiar and relief fills them both.  She waits a few more days before she decides to press the now creased letter into his palm.

“It’ll explain everything, I think,” she says, her lips soft against his forehead.  “We’ll talk later. When you’re ready.  When  _ we’re _ ready.”  

…

It's a month later, early in their ninth year, when she passes Fitz’s room and sees him struggling to tie his tie.  His fingers still shake and he can’t hold them still enough to knot the fabric properly.  Wordlessly she crosses the threshold and allows her own hands to do the work for him.  When she finishes, her fingers press against his chest, lightly mimicking the patterns of his tie. 

She hears him draw a deep breath and she looks up and meets his eyes.  He smiles and it’s at that moment that she notices for the first time the long forgotten, yet familiar, crinkles at the corners of his eyes.  

“Damn it,” she whispers laughingly, her heart thudding nervously in her chest.

He tilts his head, his face questioning.

Jemma’s tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth and she smiles.  “Y’know I swore to myself years ago that I would do everything in my power to avoid the future I thought I was going to get.”

“And--?” He prompts, swallowing hard.  His hand covers hers, pressing it flush to his chest.  

She steps toward him, closing the space between them.  “And somehow it happened anyway.”

“What happened?”  

“I fell in love with you.”

“Yeah?” Fitz’s face breaks and his cheeks flush.

She allows her body to press against his, her fingers dragging along the length of his sleeves up to his shoulders.  Her hands cup at his jaw and she nods.  “Yeah.”

Jemma bridges the distance between them and kisses him full on the mouth.  She relishes in the familiar taste of him and when he deepens the kiss and steadies his fingers along the small of her back, her body arcs toward him.  

_ It feels right. _  She doesn’t even care about the promises she’d made herself years earlier.  None of that even matters because she’s choosing to let it happen; she  _ wants _ it to happen.     

When they break, breathless and sated, it’s Fitz that speaks first.  “I always knew you wouldn’t be able to resist m’charms.”

She manages to get in a swift punch to his arm before, with his hands tilting her head toward him, he kisses her for a second time.  

…

It was meant to be their first time together; Fitz had begged Coulson for some time off while they were grounded at the Boston SSR base and the older agent had surprised him by agreeing.  He could’ve sworn that there was a flash of a smile somewhere behind his tight lips, but he didn’t dare question it.  There was no time to waste.  

He’d grabbed Jemma’s hand and without saying a word, led her out into the gardens for a proper dose of sunshine and fresh air.  He’d even planned out exactly what he was going to say to invite her over to his old apartment that he still paid rent on.  

As always, she reads his mind and he can’t resist her magnetic pull when he sees her soft features framed by the greens of the garden.  His hands are pulling her closer and inching up her back when a noise from the shrubbery startles them apart.  

The ever inquisitive Jemma is immediately nosing her way through the bushes in search of the source, when he hears her gasp in surprise.

“Do you see anything?” He asks.

“Nope. Nothing,” she replies and he immediately hears the rise in her voice and knows that she’s lying.  He loses his chance to question her when she takes his hand and practically forces him out of the garden and back into the SSR bunker.

“Jems, what’s going on?”  Fitz asks when she secures the door behind them.  Her eyes are wide and he can tell that she’s excited.

“It was you.  In the bushes.”  She bites at her lip in a spirited attempt at controlling her smile.  “It’s starting.”

His mouth falls open.  He knows exactly what she means, the chain of events is in progress; the very same that brought them to this point.

“We should tell Coulson.”

She nods and squeezes his hand.  “We need to right the course.”

...

It’s not often that Nick Fury is visited from the future; the last time it had happened, it was an Avenger warning him to prepare for Thanos by locating and securing each of the Infinity Stones.  Truth be told, he thinks it’s rather strange knowing ones future and the future of his planet.  He’s no fool though; he guards the revelations and strategizes, trusting no one beyond a small circle of people who’ve specifically earned his trust. 

Admittedly he’s surprised when a young Scotsman appears before him, speaking so rapidly that he can hardly make anything out of it.  He recognizes the boy’s flashing blue eyes, he’s certain he’s seen the same pair among the photos of those on S.H.I.E.L.D’s watch list.

“You’re Andrew Fitz’s kid aren’t you?”

The man throws his hands up and plants them on his hips.  “Yes, for godssakes! Will you listen to me, I don’ have time!”

“Well then, slow down!” Fury declares, measuring the frustration in his voice.

“It’s attacked Coulson’s brain!” Fitz repeats, his hand running through his hair.  

“What has?”

“Tha’ alien plasma, of course!”

Fury shakes his head and leans forward in his chair.  “Do you mean GH-325?”

“Yes!  Bloody hell, I don’ have time for this.  Simmons is repairin’ it as I speak.  When she’s done, I’m meant to reprogram it as soon as I return.”

He narrows his eyes.  “What do you want from me?”

“Let Coulson die!  Do no’ initiate T.A.H.I.T.I.  It’s too much for ‘im.  Understand?”  Fitz doesn’t wait for Fury’s response.  Instead he flicks his wrist and turns the ring at his finger, disappearing almost as quickly as he arrived.  

Fury sits in stunned silence, he’s not entirely certain of all that has happened and what the younger man is referencing.  Coulson is very much alive and the Guest House is barely in its early stages; it houses only a select few of the critically injured Krees from the Xandarian attack on Hala.  

He shuffles through the papers at his desk and unfolds a copy of the Glasgow Times and presses the creases from it.  It’s the first indication he’s had that Andrew Fitz is indeed in possession of one of the Infinity Stones.

_ Young engineer killed in A.I.M lab explosion.  Family and neighbours mourn.   _

His finger presses a button on his phone.  It buzzes once before his receptionist answers.  

“Get Abigail Brand on the line,” he says.

“Yes sir.  Would you prefer a secured inter-quadrant comm?”

He pauses.  “Yeah.  Also get me a rundown of anyone of interest to S.H.I.E.L.D named Simmons.  Female.  And while you’re at it, call Phil Coulson in.”

“The junior agent?” She replies, surprised.

“Yes. We’re sending him to Scotland.”


End file.
